Love Me Or Leave Me Alone
by Canimal
Summary: Hermione was doing just fine on her own, thank you very much. She didn't need any help, especially not from a rude braggart like Cormac McLaggen. A story of learning to live again when your world is turned upside down.
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's Note_** ** _: This story is written for a Mature audience as we will be dealing with Adult themes and situations. Though I don't usually offer content warnings in my stories because of personal preferences, you can be assured that this story will discuss infidelity, infertility, pregnancy loss, alcohol use/misuse, and lots more fun adult content._**

 ** _This is NOT a Weasley-bashing story._** ** _If you are wanting a story where you can just hate on the Weasley Family and review about what pieces of shit they all are, please find another story. As Ron is the character in Harry Potter that I most identify with, I'm a little protective of him. Just like I make mistakes and you make mistakes, so will he. And so will Hermione._** ** _Lots_** ** _of mistakes. Hello, human beings!_**

 ** _If there is a villain in this story,_** ** _it is not a Weasley_** ** _. It might be denial, anger, frustration, pettiness, lack of self-control or a host of other negative emotions, but it's not an actual person with red hair. As always, you can follow for updates on my Tumblr - Canimallow._**

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Chapter One

Life was not always very happy for Hermione Granger-Weasley. She hated to admit so even when the only person who knew was herself. It seemed wrong somehow to be dissatisfied with the life she'd been given. There were many people who hadn't been nearly so fortunate.

She was married to a man she loved dearly. Even if the passion that consumed the early years of their relationship had cooled to an almost depressing degree, there was still love there. Maybe not the all-consuming, can't-imagine-taking-a-single-breath-without-you love, but didn't most people notice a drop in the heat of their marriages as time passed? At times it felt like they were little more than flatmates. Happy to share the same living space and very little else.

Complaining about the absence of heat in her marriage just seemed wrong when there was so much laughter. There might not have been much more than sleeping done in their bed for longer than she really wanted to consider, but there were always deep, meaningful conversations and laughing until they couldn't breathe. Ron was her best friend. Sometimes it hurt her just a little bit when she recognized that if asked the question, he would claim Harry as his before her every time. She'd had years to brush off the little prick of pain straight to her heart when she knew she was only ever second-best.

There were lots of people in the world who'd never had the privilege of marrying someone they loved. Either no one ever fell for them or they tragically lost them at a young age. Hermione was lucky in that way. What right did she have to be disappointed when she had more than so many others?

Just as she always planned when she was a student at Hogwarts, she had a job at the Ministry for Magic. Thanks to her tireless devotion and hard work, house-elves throughout Britain were still being dismissed as lesser beings by the wizarding world at large and the vast majority of them refused to accept the paltry pittance that they were offered in exchange for performing the duties they were ordered by their former masters. She singlehandedly started a mission that brought about the freedom of an entire species. That was something that she knew she should be proud of and happy about.

Except the job wasn't nearly as interesting as she thought it would be. It had taken _years_ to get any progress done. Even when she was forced to rely upon the little bit of celebrity she still possessed after her contributions to the war. She had a single assistant in her office who, while she never claimed so, would much rather have worked for just about any other division within the Ministry. There might have been much more exciting divisions in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures than the House-Elf Post-Freedom Career Development Office, but they were doing such important work that it felt like neither witch should really ever feel the need to look wistfully at the others in their Department who seemed to enjoy their work so much more. She accomplished the goal she set forth when she was in fourth year. That was something to be proud of, something that should have given her great joy and fulfillment.

Hermione lost count the number of times that she accidentally fell asleep at her desk during the course of a normal workweek. It wasn't as if she could even use the excuse that she'd been at the office late the night before working. She never worked late. Not anymore. Not since the second year of her marriage when Ron insisted that she start coming home at a decent hour. They hardly saw each other in those first several months. He was often away on Auror duties while she buried herself in the Ministry library searching for any snippet of information or historical precedent that could further her case for the house-elves still in bondage. It had been a struggle, but she agreed that for the sake of their marriage, they needed to spend more time together.

When she found herself sighing to herself throughout the day, she would stop and ask why she was upset. Or bored. Or dissatisfied. She had a happy marriage, a wonderful husband, a beautiful home, a few close friends that she loved, and a career that more than paid for the bills. It was a damn sight more than a lot of people could claim. She should learn to be thankful. No one needed to see her be unhappy. So, even though it was damn near impossible at times to ignore the sinking in her gut that she was wasting her life, Hermione soldiered on with a convincing smile on her face that everything was going well. Used to lying to herself and everyone around her that life was perfect in the Granger-Weasley home, she should've known that eventually it was all going to come tumbling down.

On a blistering hot June evening, she opened every window in their flat to try to bring some sort of cool breeze inside. It was an exercise in futility, but she refused to be one of those people who just gave in to the hot weather as an excuse to lie about and do nothing productive. She wasn't wired that way. Determined to put a smile on the face of her husband that had been too-serious as of late, she made the decision before she left work that day that she would make his favorite meal for dinner. Though she knew she would never be able to out-do his mother when it came to cooking, Hermione was proud of the improvements she'd made in her own domesticity over the years.

As she bustled around the hot kitchen applying cooling charm after cooling charm to her face, she felt confident that they were going to have a lovely evening together. It had been so long since they'd actually sat down together for a quiet meal at home. Either they were at one of the many other Weasley homes for a boisterous meal with relatives or they were at a busy restaurant surrounded by noisy strangers. Carrying on a real, adult conversation was damn near impossible in those conditions. She hoped that they could finally have a chance to talk about some of the serious issues that always seemed to be looming in the back of their marriage. A little step in the right direction was all she was asking for. No one expected a miracle.

When George asked his younger brother to help him in the joke shop, she'd been overjoyed. Being an auror sounded like such a great idea to Ron when they were still running about the countryside fighting Dark wizards, but it hadn't taken long before he realized he didn't enjoy it as much as he thought he would. First, Neville left the department to pursue his interest in Herbology. That hadn't been a surprise. Their fellow Gryffindor had done his fair share of fighting and was ready for a quiet, peaceful life. Hermione hadn't been surprised when Ron came home to announce he wanted to resign. To be honest, she was thrilled. It was hard going to bed each night wondering if she would get the sharp knock on her front door to tell her that her husband was dead. She believed that when he started working at a less stressful job with better hours that they would finally be able to spend the time together they never could seem to find.

It had been a foolish hope. There was always something that would come up that would keep Ron from coming home at a decent hour. An error with the latest shipment. A shop assistant owling in sick. A dinner meeting with potential wholesalers or investors that ran late. Research and development that always seemed to take longer than expected. Other times it was just meeting his mates at The Leaky Cauldron for a few pints that turned into a few more and then a few more until he was too drunk to Apparate home.

She never had any reason not to trust her husband. Early in their relationship when they were setting boundaries and expectations they both brought up the subject of jealousy. Each promised they would trust their spouse up until the very moment they were given reason to not. So far in almost ten years together, Hermione hadn't had cause for concern. Not even once. Ron was a good man. Far from being perfect, but still a good, honorable wizard.

When dinner was ready sharply at seven o'clock and her husband wasn't home, she wasn't worried yet. Warming charms had been invented for a reason. By eight, she was a teensy bit annoyed. If he was planning on working late in the shop, he could have at least had the courtesy to owl her. At nine, she was done waiting for the pleasure of his company. She attacked her food with her fork, imagining that each piece of chicken was his freckled face. Ten o'clock found the kitchen spotless and the frustrated wife soaking in a hot bubble bath. She'd worked so hard to make the meal special. Why couldn't he be bothered to expend at least as much effort as she did? Why was she _always_ the one making the concessions?

It was half-past eleven when she heard the front door open from the comfort of her empty bed. Ron didn't even bother to be quiet as he shuffled inside their dark flat, a clear sign that he'd been out for drinks. On nights he was in the lab with George, he returned exhausted, but still conscientious about the level of noise he made. When he had been drinking, all bets were off. She lay in the bed fuming. Did he have any idea how dreadful it felt to be left home alone almost every single night of the week? As much as he might have denied being intentionally hurtful, wondering if her husband would rather spend his time with anyone else in the world other than his wife cut Hermione to the core. Years might have passed since she ran to hide in the girls' bathroom with a mountain troll because she was so upset that no one wanted to be her friend, but those insecurities were still present.

Maybe it would have been better if she had just closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. What good could come of arguing right before bed? It would do nothing but make them both irritable and neither of them would get a good night's sleep. Yes, in hindsight, she would have probably been better off just ignoring her hurt feelings, but discord and deep-seated marital issues always have a way of making their way to the surface at inconvenient times.

"Where were you?"

She hated how shrill her voice could get when she was upset. Judging by the closing of his eyes and the clenching of his eyelids, so did Ron. He wasn't swaying in place, a sign that he hadn't had as much to drink as he usually did. Before he answered the question, her husband took a deep breath and sighed.

"Dean and Seamus were in London. We went to the Leaky when the shop closed."

Even though she knew she still had every right to be upset with him for rudely neglecting to inform her where he'd been, she hesitated to keep up the discussion. Their fellow Gryffindors were so rarely in the country. They travelled so much with Seamus' job. Dean, a well-respected magical portrait painter, could work just about anywhere. When they came in, of course she expected her husband to make every effort to spend some time with them. But, maybe it would have been nice to have been invited. Though not as close to them as Ron was, she still considered them her friends.

"Oh, I didn't know that."

"Look, I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean to be out so late."

He sniffed at the air and headed straight for the kitchen. Without even acknowledging her efforts, he picked up the plate still under the warming charm and tucked in. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms at his singleminded nature. There could have been a dozen other people in the room with them and he wouldn't have noticed them with the pleasant distraction of dinner. Some things never changed.

"You could've sent an owl, Ronald. I made you dinner and just sat here all night wondering where you were."

His second sigh infuriated her further. What was she saying that was so terribly unreasonable? Her feelings might have been hurt, but that didn't make her point any less valid.

"I'm sorry. I just lost track of time."

"It's almost as if you… like you…"

She couldn't say the words that she wanted to say. Even if she knew the truth without uttering them. Thoughts that were left unspoken could easily be pushed away and ignored. Once spoken, however, it was much harder to pretend they didn't exist.

"Like I _what_ , Hermione?"

Ron was in the mood for a verbal sparring match. Or at the very least he wasn't in the mood to avoid one. They could fight for hours if they allowed themselves. Sometimes, they made up for the lack of passion in the bedroom by having the most spectacular rows.

"It doesn't matter."

She didn't want to accuse him of not wanting to spend any time with her because she feared that he might admit it if she did. How else was she supposed to take a man who never wanted to come home? Hoping she could try to calm herself down enough to get to sleep at a decent hour, she turned on her heel and headed back to the bedroom.

Several minutes passed where she lay under the covers in the dark of the bedroom willing the hot tears that were filling her eyes to go away. Ron hated when she cried, said that she used it as a manipulation tactic. Maybe there was truth to it. Mostly, however, she just felt the urge to weep. She strained her ears listening for the sounds of her husband finishing his dinner, cleaning up his plate and heading to bed. He was so quiet that she wasn't even aware he was in the doorway until she heard him speak.

"I want a divorce."

Four words she'd thought she would have heard in the past more than a few times. Four words she probably _should_ have heard before that moment. Regardless of the expectation that at some point they would come to this place, his softly spoken statement shook her to her bones. Flipping over to look in his eyes, she'd never seen him look so serious in all of the years they'd known each other.

"You… _what_?"

His third sigh of the night didn't anger her like perhaps it should have. She could hear the sadness in his tone, the resignation, and the fear. This wasn't a spur of the moment decision. Maybe all of the drinking he'd done with his mates was to build up the courage he needed to make the request that threatened to rip her beating heart from her chest.

"All we ever do is fight, Hermione. When I'm home, you're mad at me."

"Because you're _never_ home."

"That's not it and you know it. We just… we don't work.

He stood in the doorway waiting for her to respond to his statement. Waiting for her to argue. She couldn't. Later, when she could take a moment to stop and dissect what he was saying and truly understand what he meant, maybe she could. But, not then. Instead, she threw the covers off and jumped out of bed.

Other wives faced with the same position might have gone straight to cursing him or screaming. Hermione didn't have the energy. She grabbed her bathrobe off of the back of the bedroom door as she pushed past him without speaking. Once her feet were crammed into the first pair of shoes she could find nearest the front door, she stepped out into the corridor of their building. Unsure where she was going to go, she knew she just needed to get away.

Walking that late at night wasn't a safe option. She just needed to get away from their flat, away from her husband. Just for a few minutes. An hour, maybe. Spinning in place, she thought of a place she knew where she could find at least an empty room she could be alone in.

The Ministry of Magic was almost completely deserted at midnight on a Tuesday. Or, she supposed it was Wednesday. There were some souls wandering around the massive underground building. Aurors on the late shift or members of the Magical Maintenance Department mostly. None of them were likely to bother her. She just wanted to sit in her office and think over what just happened back at home. Make some kind of sense of it.

Wishing to avoid anyone she might run into in the lifts, she pushed open the neglected door to the rarely used stairs. Most of the Ministry officials avoided the stairs whenever possible. Hermione found the simple act of just walking to her office usually helped clear her head. Very rarely did she ever see a single person in the narrow, dark space.

She was past Level Two and halfway to Level Three when she first spotted the man's back. Holding what looked like a pack of Muggle cigarettes in one hand, he seemed to be using the emptiness of the stairwell to indulge in a disgusting vice.

"Smoking isn't allowed in the Ministry."

He spun around with one unlit hanging between his lips. Annoyed and clearly on the verge of telling her to mind her own business, when their eyes met, a smirk curled up in the corner of his mouth.

"Are you going to tell on me for being a very bad boy?"

Cormac McLaggen might have been older than he had been when they were at Hogwarts, but very little about him seemed to have changed. She'd forgotten that he was employed at the Ministry. Somewhere in one of the departments she didn't care much for. Probably one that Rose would've preferred to be in. He hadn't been there long. Maybe a few weeks. Their paths had yet to cross and she was cursing her poor luck. Of all of the times to run into the rude, obnoxious braggart who once attempted to swallow her tongue underneath the mistletoe, that had to have been the worst.

"Forget it, McLaggen. Just try not to burn the building down."

She didn't like how his eyes moved up and down her body in a clear examination. It wasn't disgusting as she expected. As his eyes took in the fact that she was wearing an old bathrobe over her pajamas and a pair of boots that really didn't match, there was both confusion and curiosity present.

"Are you all right, Granger? Is something wrong?"

Hearing his tone was the final straw. She had to get away from him. If there was one thing she couldn't bear to see in another person's face, it was pity. Hermione feared that if she looked up, she would see it splashed all over his admittedly still quite handsome face. Instead, she attempted to walk past him. A gentle grasp of her arm impeded her progress.

"What's going on, Hermione?"

Maybe it was the way he used her first name instead of falling back to old habits. Maybe it was the tenderness in his voice. Or maybe it was when she got the courage to look up into his face she saw nothing but concern. No pity at all. Emotions had a funny way of making themselves known when one least wanted them. She dropped her eyes from his to hide the tears that were steadily streaming down her cheeks.

He didn't ask for permission. Didn't check to make sure it was all right before he enveloped her frame in his arms and pulled her against his chest. She knew it was wrong to seek comfort from a human being she loathed, but she didn't care. For the first time in a long time, she actually felt like someone cared what happened to her. It might have been all an act, something he would use later to blackmail her or taunt her with. Again, she didn't care.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure you'll be all right. They haven't invented a problem yet that Hermione Granger doesn't know the answer to."

She knew deep down that it wasn't meant unkindly, that he was making an attempt at a joke to lighten the mood. Truthfully, it was much sweeter than anything she could've imagined would come out of his mouth. But kind or not, it had the effect of breaking the strange spell that had fallen over them both. She pushed herself back from his chest, wiped at her eyes, and glared up at the wizard.

"I am _just_ fine, McLaggen. I don't need any of your help."

Far from being offended, his chuckles still rang in her ear as she continued her walk down the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

She was completely humiliated, unable to understand what had even happened in the dark stairwell. As she made her way to the safety of her empty office, Hermione wished for nothing more than to have the ground beneath her feet open up and swallow her whole. Had she actually allowed Cormac _McLaggen_ to not only see her cry but comfort her as well? Of all of the people who could have possibly witnessed that mortifying moment, why did it have to be him?

Many years had passed since she last saw her office at such a late hour. Ron didn't like when she worked too much. He used to say that he was a selfish man, but he wanted her home with him. Back in those halcyon days of her brand-new marriage, they both had trouble walking away from the other. Now, it seemed that they each breathed easier without the other one near.

The tears that had begun when she was alone with the cretin began to flow again. Knowing that she needed to let out the emotions she was feeling before she exploded, she laid her head down on her desk. Truthfully, she hated to cry. Always had. The act made her feel weak, made her feel like she was still the first year alone with the troll crying about not having any friends. Or the third year crying because none of her friends wanted to speak to her. Or even the terrified fugitive Muggle-born on the run with Undesirable Number One without a clue what they were going to do next or if they'd even be alive to do it

Crying always had such a negative connotation. Even though _everyone_ cried from time to time, if she actually gave in to the act when she felt like it, she ran the risk of being considered mentally unstable or deranged. Why was she expected to keep her emotions hidden or 'under control' just to be considered a strong and capable woman? It had never made any sense at all. She might have known it was okay to give in to the emotion, but she felt guilty every second that passed.

When her eyes burned dry and not another tear could be squeezed from them, Hermione sat back up straight in her chair. What was she going to do next? Did Ron mean it when he told her he wanted a divorce? A glimmer of hope that _maybe_ , just maybe he was only voicing his concerns and there was a chance that they could work it out began to take root. They could go back to counseling. It helped a little the last time they tried.

 _Or it just delayed the inevitable._ Angry with herself for even entertaining such a depressing notion, Hermione shook her head and rose to her feet. She had done her running away and crying. Now she needed to go home and see what could be done to save her marriage. She wasn't going to just give it up without a fight. Once she was satisfied that all traces of tears were gone from her face, she tightened her bathrobe and headed straight for the door.

There was a very real fear that she would run back into McLaggen on the way out. He had to have been curious about what he witnessed and was unwittingly made a part of. She hoped that she could slip out of the building without anyone seeing her. Too many questions would be asked. It was bad enough that there had already been one witness to her shame. Any more and she might have to come up with some sort of plausible excuse. She refused to admit there were any problems with her marriage until she was absolutely certain they existed. Avoiding any chance that she might be asked what had her so upset that night was her best option to keep from blurting out something she couldn't take back.

No one crossed her path in the empty lift. The Atrium was silent. She was grateful for small favors all the way back to the flat she purchased with her husband four years earlier when they were still hoping they were going to finally be able to expand their little family. One more heartbreaking disappointment in a long line of countless others.

The time was half past one in the morning when she boldly pushed open the front door. If Ron was at least half as upset by their earlier argument as she was, she expected him to still be sitting up waiting anxiously for her return. Neither of them cared much for arguing late at night, but they usually tried to live by the advice so many had given them over the years to never go to bed angry. Sometimes they were successful, usually they weren't. Not giving much thought to the amount of noise she was making, Hermione stepped inside her flat, surprised to find that not even a single lamp had been left on.

Ron wasn't waiting. Either he left home after she did or he was in bed. She didn't understand why he wasn't sitting on the sofa waiting for her to come back. When they had massive rows in the past, she _always_ sat up and waited for him when he stormed out to get some fresh air or to have time to calm himself down. Where was he?

She directed her steps to the bedroom they shared hoping that maybe he was waiting up for her in bed. He started the discussion about the ugly D-word when she was in bed. Perhaps that was where he wished to continue it. Only moments down the corridor, Hermione saw something she had never seen before - the door to their rarely-used guest bedroom was closed. Gently turning the doorknob that had an obnoxious tendency to squeak at the wrong time, she didn't even have to open it all the way to hear the familiar sound of her husband snoring in his sleep.

Never, not a single time in their entire marriage had either of them slept in the guest bedroom after an argument. _Never_. Even when their issues were far from resolved before they had to go to sleep in preparation for the next day they still slept in the same bed. It certainly made for some uncomfortable, restless nights, but they were still lying next to each other, still at least behaving like they wished to be together. Moving into the guest room felt so _final_. So real.

Unable to allow herself the chance to process the very clear message he was sending, Hermione closed the bedroom door and returned to the living room. She thought she was done crying for the night. Clearly, she was wrong. She moved into the dark kitchen to sit down at the familiar table. Even as she sat in her office crying she never imagined he was serious. This is what they had always done. While she would never claim that their relationship was always terribly healthy, this was normal for them. They would argue about something ridiculous. One or both of them would say something hurtful. They would separate to their individual corners to calm down and lick their wounds. No matter how ugly the fight, they _always_ apologized and made up. Their relationship, their friendship, their marriage was worth too much to just toss aside like rubbish. Had everything changed when she wasn't paying attention? When did they make the decision to move in a direction they couldn't come back from?

She fought the onslaught of tears that threatened to consume her being. What good was it to keep crying? It wasn't a solution to anything. All it did was make her feel even more dreadful than she already did. For someone who always liked to have a solution or at least an _idea_ of a solution, she felt lost. Some Know-It-All she was.

A tap at the kitchen window startled her out of her increasingly depressive thoughts. It was too late for regular post owls and far too early for the morning edition of the Daily Prophet to be delivered. She rose to her feet to open the window to the poor creature hovering outside. The owl hopped onto the inside windowsill to wait for Hermione to untie the message from its leg. Rewarded with an owl treat, it should have flown off into the night, but it remained rooted firmly to the spot. Whomever sent the bird must have insisted that it wait for an answer.

Emergency messages sent in the middle of the night usually arrived by Floo or patronus. Seeing her husband's name scrawled on the outside of the parchment, her prodigious curiosity got the better of her. Though it was undoubtedly a complete invasion of privacy and something she prided herself on never doing, Hermione broke the seal on the missive and unrolled it.

 _Did you talk to her yet?_

Hermione's stomach sank. Only six words, but they told her all she needed to know. Or rather, they finally confirmed what she had suspected weeks earlier. Something subtle had changed in her husband. It wasn't enough that just anyone would notice. She'd known him since they were both eleven years old. He'd been in an odd mood for a very long time. One second he would be combative, irritable, itching to fight. The next he would be sullen and want to be left alone. And then, without any warning or seeming reason at all, he would be laughing and smiling and back to his usual joking, funny, lovable self. She had been worried about him, afraid that the stress from his job at the shop was beginning to get to him.

And then there had been the moments he would seem distant, slip away for a few minutes, and then return as if nothing was wrong. She'd asked him a few times about the owls he received at random times. He brushed it all off as simply being work-related. But sometimes they came late at night when the shop had been closed for hours. She tried to ignore what her gut was telling her to no avail. Part of her always knew that he would stick it out in their marriage for as long as he could until another option he liked better presented itself.

The worst part of it all was, if she was being completely and brutally honest with herself, she couldn't exactly blame him. Not that she was excusing any inappropriate behavior. Infidelity was wrong, full stop. They each made vows almost eight years earlier to forsake all others. Still, a nagging thought in the back of her mind kept reminding her that she hadn't exactly been the easiest of people to live with. They had many problems and she was just as complicit. She kept her secrets and outright lied to him on more occasions than she was comfortable with.

There had been times she was tempted to seek comfort in another's arms. A year earlier when she'd crossed paths with Viktor Krum again at a Quidditch event her husband forced her to attend, there had been some harmless flirting that quickly entered very dangerous territory. Sensing she was unhappy with Ron, Viktor quietly suggested they meet up again in private. A few follow-up owls with the same suggestion had been difficult to say 'no' to. She was more than a little tempted. It almost happened. Only a last-minute case of nerves kept her out of the Diagon Alley hotel he was staying. She was certainly not innocent either.

But, she couldn't blame Ron for seeking companionship outside their marriage. She was almost as guilty and understood all too well how easy it could all be. Neither one of them had been happy for a long time. Two years earlier they tiptoed around the discussion of divorce. Though he hadn't come right out and asked her for one, he did give her an ultimatum. She would go to counseling with him or they would end their marriage right then. As angry as she'd been in that moment, she almost left him. Honestly, she still wasn't entirely sure why she didn't.

She didn't recognize the handwriting. All she could tell was that it was decidedly feminine. Was this the source of Ron's sudden changes in mood? She wanted all of the details and none at the same time. Perhaps what was the most surprising to her was that she wasn't angry. Far from it. _Hurt_ , certainly, but not angry. She had been suspecting there might be someone else for a while. Weeks at least. Possibly longer. When she was having her own inappropriate dalliance with Viktor did Ron suspect? There hadn't been anything physical beyond one kiss to the lips that had hardly lasted more than a second or two but held promises of much more to come. Still, it didn't really matter. She had been as secretive about her owls as he had been. Her moods probably varied as quickly as his during those weeks too.

Staring down at the parchment, considering storming into the guest room and making her husband explain the contents, Hermione made an impulsive decision. Grabbing a quill from a nearby table, she scribbled out her own response underneath the simple question. Years of correcting Ron's homework had given her a special set of skills. She could replicate his writing and Harry's any time she wished.

 _Yes, we talked. It did not go well._

She wasn't sure why she was willingly engaging the other woman. Maybe she was trying to do whatever she could to reclaim any small amount of power she might still possess. Reattaching the letter to the owl, she stood in front of the window watching the bird disappear back into the night sky. Tempted to stay there until another message arrived, all of the exhaustion and fatigue from the events of the evening came crashing down at once. Leaving the window open in case the bird returned at some point, she forced herself to return to their empty bedroom. If there was anything left of their relationship to salvage, it could be done later when she'd had the opportunity to sleep.

* * *

Somehow, Hermione was able to shut her overactive brain off enough to catch a few hours of sleep. What little she had was not nearly enough. Every ounce of her felt heavy and exhausted. How was she supposed to go about her daily life pretending like her world wasn't falling apart? With her newfound knowledge of Ron's secretive correspondence, she wasn't even sure how she going to face her husband.

Tapping in to the reserves of her strength, reminding herself that there was nothing she couldn't do if she was determined enough, she set both of her feet on the floor. Her eyes caught the two rings lying on her nightstand. For the better part of a decade, she was in the habit of getting out of bed, reaching for the rings she wore every day without fail, and slipping them on her finger. Was she allowed to wear them when the man who gave them to her wanted to end the very thing they represented? She didn't feel right about wearing them when everything about their situation was still so unsettled.

It felt strange to exit her bedroom fully clothed and ready for the day with her hand so empty. Would everyone notice right away that they were missing? If anyone asked, what would she say? She could lie and tell them they were at the jeweler and make some joke about being a free woman until they came back cleaned or repaired. When she had them resized a few years earlier, she and Ron both made that terrible joke. Or should she just be honest? When did someone announce their divorce or their separation? Had anyone ever thought to compile all of these awkward questions into a book so the poor souls going through a similar situation knew what to do next?

Needing copious amounts of caffeine to even think about making it through what was sure to be a painfully uncomfortable day, Hermione went straight for the kitchen. The owl was back on the windowsill. And perhaps most surprising of all, her husband was seated at the table with the parchment in his hands. He was never up before she was. Unsure what to say, she said nothing. Simply went about the task of brewing some coffee. Tea wasn't strong enough for the hell that awaited her.

Assuming that whomever he was corresponding with continued their discussion on the same roll of parchment, it only made sense that Ron was already aware that his wife was aware. Was he going to say something? Deny it? Try to make it sound harmless? His silence was disconcerting. She kept expecting him to say something, say _anything_. Even when her coffee was finished he hadn't spoken a word or moved from his spot. His eyes were focused on the note he held in his hands, almost like he was trying to ignore the fact she was there at all.

Hermione couldn't bear to be in the room with him for another moment. Neither of them had said so much as 'good morning' to the other. Leaving the coffee without taking a single sip, she rushed out of the kitchen and out the front door. The difficult conversations they needed to have would wait for later.

She arrived at the Ministry frazzled and wishing to be anywhere else. A large crush of officials and visitors trying to enter the building annoyed her further. On an ordinary day she would have already been inside at her desk sifting through that day's never-ending paperwork. Her late hours made her oversleep. She _never_ overslept.

Instead of going immediately to her office, Hermione headed for the Ministry canteen. With no caffeine in her system, the day was going to only get worse. She didn't waste a moment picking up an empty cup. Completely oblivious to everyone and anything else around her, she reached for the steaming pot of coffee at the same time as another caffeine-deprived person.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

She looked up to see the face connected with the hand holding the coffee. Smirking, Cormac McLaggen seemed to have a bad habit of showing up exactly where she didn't want to see him. He found their accidental meeting amusing. Groaning softly to herself, she considered dropping the empty cup and trying to make it though the day without any help.

"You seem to have a habit of popping up exactly where I am, Granger. Is this a plan on your part?"

Her face morphed into an annoyed scowl that only made him laugh. She hated the sound. Why was he making it his purpose in life to frustrate her? The curse of bad fortune must have been following her around. First with Ron's hurtful statement and then actually being in the same space as McLaggen _twice_ in less than twelve hours. What deity had she angered to deserve this?

"Hardly, McLaggen. If I'd known you were anywhere near here, I wouldn't be here."

Either entirely unconvinced or still enjoying their interactions, the wizard filled her cup with a smile. As soon as the liquid was near the top, she muttered her thanks and rushed to the elderly witch collecting money. Before she could hand over the knuts requested, McLaggen was paying for both of them.

"That's not necessary. I can pay for myself."

"Come on. No shame in accepting a cup of coffee from an old friend. Care to sit at one of those tables over there and catch up?"

She wasn't sure if he was being serious or not. It had always been difficult to read the overly confident man. Even when they were younger. Spending even one more second with him was threatening to bring her to the edge of her patience. After everything that had happened in the last several hours, she didn't need the additional annoyance and complication of being with someone she still loathed. She scoffed and he laughed. Keeping her wand in her pocket and a curse off of her lips was proving to be very difficult.

"I think it's customary for a witch to at least sit a few minutes with a wizard who buys her a drink."

"I'm _married_ , McLaggen."

His eyes flicked down to her bare left hand. Though he didn't say a word in response before she exited the canteen as quickly as she could, Hermione got the impression that he was aware that there was more to the story. It didn't matter. She would just have to keep as far away from him as physically possible from then on. The Ministry was a massive building. She could go months at a time without seeing friends that worked in other departments.

Only when her steps crossed over the threshold of the small office she shared with the only other member of her division did she calm down. So far her plan to remain as inconspicuous as possible wasn't going well.

"Are you all right, Hermione? You're never late."

All she could do was sigh in response to her assistant's question. Rose knew her well enough to know not to press the issue any further. Instead, she offered Hermione a bright smile and turned her attention back to the pile of parchment on her desk. They had been the only members of the House-Elf Post-Freedom Career Development Office for the past four years. For reasons Hermione still struggled to understand, no one else in the Ministry thought the work they did was important enough to warrant more employees. There were days the two women had more work than they knew what to do with.

Rose Zeller had been a Hufflepuff several years behind Hermione. When the horrid cow Umbridge was reigning in the castle as the High Inquisitor or whatever rubbish title she'd granted herself, little Rosie had been in her first year trying desperately to learn how to pass through the year unnoticed. The daughter of Tiberius Zeller, Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, she had had many opportunities to move to a more _exciting_ division within the Ministry, but each time her influential father informed her of a new position, she politely declined. Determined to only further her career through the merits of her own hard work instead of her father had been one of the traits Hermione admired most about her.

She was a pretty girl, if a bit shy. With dark brown hair and eyes to match, Rose didn't seem terribly interested in much about life beyond what happened in their office. In all of the years that they had known each other, Hermione was certain that she'd never heard of the younger witch ever going out on a single date. More than a few times her supervisor tried to suggest successful, quality wizards that she might like. She'd even put a couple of witches in her path. Each time Rose would blush and smile but never go further than that.

That morning, when her world seemed to be crashing down around her, Hermione envied the younger witch's innocence and seeming freedom. Maybe she didn't have anyone special in her life, but at least she didn't have to worry that she was giving her heart and the best years of her life away to someone who didn't even appreciate them, to someone who was sending late night owls to some random person and demanding the dissolution of a marriage they had fought so hard to keep together. She didn't have to worry about how her life was going to change because it _wasn't_.

Overpowering waves of envy and pure jealousy rolled over Hermione. She loved the woman and hated herself for thinking anything uncharitable about her for even a moment. Setting the cup of coffee that McLaggen purchased for her on top of her desk with enough force that some of the hot liquid splashed over the side, she sat down to finally begin her day. Work always kept her mind occupied.

Except for that day. No matter how many times she read a form, she couldn't make sense of it. Her mind kept wandering to replays of the night before and to worries about what was going to become of her future. What was she going to do next? What had she done to make her marriage crumble? Silent tears rolled out of her eyes. She wasn't even aware she was crying until she heard the sniffles with her own ears. Rose was kind enough to pretend like she didn't hear or see what was happening, but she was no fool. Sitting still at the desk and allowing her mind to wander was the worst idea she'd had. She would get nothing done.

Instead of remaining there at risk of completely breaking down in front of someone she would have to confess to, she made a decision. She made an excuse to Rose about not feeling well and needing to go home. The sweet woman didn't question her further. Only nodded her head and wished her a speedy recovery. After she gathered her belongings, Hermione crossed the Level to the office of the Head of the Beast Division, her direct supervisor.

Kenneth Towler was a fellow Gryffindor who had the misfortune of sharing a dorm room with the Weasley twins for seven years. Though she had never had any problems with the wizard both in school and after, the twins made him a frequent mark for their pranks, including a memorable incident with Fred putting Bulbadox powder in his pajamas when they were in fifth year. As far as she was aware, he didn't hold any ill feelings towards the brothers.

"I need to take the rest of the week off for a family emergency."

Towler furrowed his brow at the odd request. It wasn't like her to ask for time off from work. If anything, he was frequently required to _force_ her to take a vacation every now and then. He gestured to the chair across from his desk, but she refused. She wasn't sure she was going to be able to make it through the short meeting without bursting into tears. The sooner she could make it out of the Ministry, the better.

"Is everything all right, Hermione?"

"Yes." The word came out in a short tone before she could stop herself. Sighing, she opted for the honesty route. He deserved to know a bit more than she was telling him. "No, not really, Kenneth. I think it will be all right, but I need a few days."

"Of course. Take all of the time you need. I know you well enough to know that you wouldn't do this if it wasn't important."

She appreciated his candor. An attempt to give the man a reassuring smile fell flat. Hermione headed for the lifts. After a quick stop at her flat to pack a bag, she needed to get somewhere private where she could think. Maybe a few days apart would make it easier for her to have the discussion with Ron she didn't want to have. Or maybe if she was lucky, he would realize how much he missed her during the time apart and rescind his demand for a divorce. A girl could hope.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The emptiness of the flat Hermione shared with her husband struck her as being particularly depressing when she returned to pack a bag. Maybe it was because she was still unsure what her next move would be. Escaping from the Ministry and going away for a few days was as far as her brain was able to plan in that moment. Once she was inside her home, she began to have second thoughts.

Running away suddenly seemed like a terrible idea. What if Ron came home and wanted to talk and she wasn't there? It was entirely possible that he spent the previous night and all that day thinking over his request for a divorce. Was it unreasonable to believe that he might have changed his mind? Each of them both said terrible things to the other over the course of their marriage that they didn't mean. Asking her for a divorce, asking her to basically give up the life they'd created together might have been a rash decision.

Almost as soon as she thought about staying home instead of getting some space and perceptive for a few days, she dismissed the idea. This wasn't like their arguments in the past. It hadn't even actually been an argument at all. The defeated tone Ron used to ask her for the dissolution of their marriage the night before was one she wasn't used to hearing. He was calm, _resigned_ even. Nothing about those four horrible, little words he uttered was said in jest or even frustration. He _meant_ them. It was his desire that they no longer be married. Tears filled her eyes again. She just couldn't seem to get them to stop.

Facing Ron again as an unstable mess of emotions was the worst idea she could come up with. They needed some time apart to really think about their next step. She kept reminding herself that it was always possible that they could come back from the previous night. There was always a chance that they could mend whatever needed mending. A break, some time apart, was necessary, however.

She wasn't sure where she could go. Clearly, everyone with any tie to the Weasley family needed to be avoided. As much as she loved them and they were her family too, she knew that in situations like theirs, blood usually won out. It wasn't fair of her to pit family members against each other. Seeking out the counsel of one of her sisters-in-law likewise wouldn't be a good idea. Their husbands would likely feel an obligation to their younger brother. She couldn't blame them. It would be wrong to try to make family members pick sides. Especially considering the fact that this could all very well just be temporary.

Spending a few days with her parents was absolutely out of the question. They still lived in Australia. Besides that inconvenient factor, their relationship was strained. Part of them had yet to forgive her for the meddling she did with their memories during the war. If they never fully forgave her, she wouldn't be surprised. What had been done out of love was met with suspicion and fear. Neither of her parents spoke to her for over two years after she restored their memories and explained what she'd done and why. Their relationships would never be the same. No, even if she made the trip to Australia, it wouldn't be relaxing and rejuvenating. Likely her father would say something like her deceitful nature was catching up with her and her mum would feel sorry for Ron. Poor man for having such a horrid wife and all.

No, she'd rather sit alone in a filthy room in The Hog's Head for several days. At least the proprietor, Aberforth Dumbledore, would offer her plenty of fire whiskey and keep his opinions about her life to himself. And anywhere Mundungus Fletcher wasn't allowed to enter was a bonus. One glance at her bare left hand and she'd never get rid of the cretin. He'd made it clear once or twice when they'd been in close proximity that he would be glad to spend an evening alone in her company, married or not. She almost failed to keep the contents of her stomach where they belonged.

Hermione could only think of one person that she wanted to see when she stopped to really think about her options. Though their friendship rarely made a lot of sense, she knew that if she needed a place to collect herself and a sympathetic ear to listen, she would find it with them. Scribbling down a request to stay for a few days, she attached it to the leg of the owl she shared with Ron.

While she waited for the response to her owl and the invitation that she knew would come, Hermione entered the master bedroom to pack a bag. Even though she slept in the room the night before, between bouts of crying, of course, it still felt strange to be back there. She couldn't explain what the feeling was exactly. Almost as if she knew she didn't belong there anymore.

"Don't be ridiculous. This is still _your_ home."

But, even as she tried to convince herself of that fact, it didn't help. Maybe other buildings were practically sentient like Hogwarts Castle. It was possible that their flat was doing its best to tell her that she needed to leave and never come back. She did her best to ignore the ridiculous thoughts that plagued her while she packed. They weren't helping. Determined to only be gone a matter of days, she didn't need much in her suitcase before she was done. Just as she was adding her toothbrush there was a tap at the window.

She was never _not_ impressed by post owls. Even after twenty years in the magical world, she still didn't understand how it was possible for the creatures to traverse the country in such a short span of time. Perhaps, just like house-elves, they possessed magic that wizards were unable to understand. She offered her owl a treat as she untied the letter from its legs. The familiar script on the front of the parchment lifted her spirits. If anyone could help her during her difficult time, Luna could.

 _You are always welcome, Hermione. We would be glad to have you visit. Stay as long as you like. -L_

Once she had confirmation that she would be welcomed with open arms at her intended destination, Hermione gathered her belongings. Part of her was tempted to run out without leaving even a scribbled note to her husband to tell him where she'd gone. Would he even worry if he didn't see her? Or was he too busy with whomever it was that kept sending him owls at an indecent hour?

Before she stepped outside of the flat to make her short journey to Luna's, Hermione took a deep breath. She had to remind herself that she didn't have all of the facts yet. Yes, it _looked_ bad for Ron. It looked positively dreadful for him, but she didn't know what was happening. Wasn't she guilty of sending inappropriate owls to Viktor just a short time earlier? And she actually allowed a kiss that should've never happened. It had been very difficult to stop their kiss from escalating to something else that she desired. Because of her love for her husband, she was able to keep her own indiscretion to an _almost_ purely emotional affair. Was it unreasonable to believe that Ron was capable of doing the same?

Her guilty conscience made her write out the barest of explanations to him where she'd gone. Mostly because she didn't want to find out later that he didn't care enough to look for her. _That_ was something she was certain she wouldn't be able to bear. Satisfied that her whereabouts wouldn't be a secret, she picked up her suitcase to walk outside to the best Apparition point behind the building where no Muggles were likely to stumble upon her using magic.

Thanks to the wonders of magic, it didn't take her long to arrive just outside the rickety wooden garden gate the Scamanders used as their entrance. Hermione always felt a sense of ease when she would drop in to their property. Tucked away in the middle of the countryside, not far from where her childhood home once stood, Luna spent a lot of time outside with her small family searching for interesting creatures that may or may not even exist. Her husband Rolf, despite being the grandson of the famous magizoologist Newt Scamander, was a gifted herbologist. Their property was overgrown with countless fascinating and rare plants. Everywhere one looked they could see blooms and flowers. It was a wild place that she loved dearly.

No one was more surprised than Hermione to discover that the two witches were destined to become very close friends. When they were young and still in the castle learning how to use magic with a vague idea of the danger that waited for them beyond the walls, the older of the two had no use for the younger. Hermione thought Luna was a ridiculous creature, one that should've been ignored and pitied. It bothered her that she was bullied by her Housemates and other students. As someone who faced a fair amount of that on her own thanks to her blood status, she didn't think it was right. But, no matter how much she tried, she didn't understand anything about the dreamy Ravenclaw.

It was only after the war that the girls were able to find common ground. With the help of Ginny who helped facilitate the early days of their friendship, they forged a bond while Hermione was attending the reconstructed Hogwarts to finish her NEWTs. Maybe it was the benefit of being older and wiser or maybe it was because they were bonded in violence that no child should've ever had to experience. It didn't really matter. She valued Luna's unique perspective. Even when she spoke about something that made very little sense, Hermione respected and appreciated her nonetheless. And, though it once surprised her to admit so, Luna was comforting and validating in a manner she never expected. She valued their relationship immensely.

Only two steps past the garden gate, Hermione was met by both Scamanders. Their twin boys were nowhere to be seen. Likely they were just inside the house. They were still quite young and usually into everything, but it was about the time for their afternoon nap. Part of the reason Hermione looked forward to coming to visit was to spend time with the two boys. It was a delight watching them grow up. Her desire for a family and lack thereof was acutely felt there.

Luna didn't say a single word in greeting or ask why her guest was there in the first place. Knowing that she was needed, the woman wrapped her arms tightly around Hermione. Instantly, the tears that stopped for such a short time began again. There was a safety in Luna's arms with Rolf watching over them just steps away. It was a feeling that she _should've_ been able to feel in her own home, but somehow no longer could. When she stopped feeling welcome there was unclear. Maybe longer than she wanted to admit to herself.

Sometimes Hermione felt like she spent her entire adolescence hiding in lavatories or empty classrooms crying. She used to believe that crying was a weakness, something that she should be ashamed of. It was only as she grew older that she learned one _had_ to cry. If they didn't express the emotions that were building up inside themselves, eventually they would explode. That was a lesson learned the hard way. When she was an adult after the war ended and their world was returning to some semblance of peace and normalcy, she tried to push down the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. She knew it made others uncomfortable, made her look like an unstable lunatic. Hadn't she cried enough in that damned tent to last her a lifetime? It was only after pushing down those feelings for so long that she discovered the damage she was doing to herself in the process.

With Luna, there was no shame in crying. When the tears began to slide down her cheeks and the sobs choked in her throat, Luna only squeezed tighter. She provided the comfort that Hermione so desperately needed without even needing to know the circumstances. Hermione wasn't sure how long they stood there. Probably long enough to concern Rolf. He was a patient, quiet man, but she knew that he had his limits. Inhaling several deep, calming breaths, she stepped back from Luna to wipe her eyes.

Rolf didn't waste a moment leaning down to kiss her cheek in greeting. She offered him the smallest of smiles through her watery eyes and saw nothing but a grim, determined expression on his face. Ordinarily one who was quick to share his shy grin, she almost didn't recognize him in his solemnity. Without explaining his reasons, he began a thorough check of his guest. He examined her wrists, checked every centimeter of her face, and even brushed his fingers gently on her collar to look at the skin there. Realizing that he was checking her for any visible marks or injuries only made Hermione love the man all the more. When he was satisfied that she wasn't in any sort of physical distress, he sighed and relaxed his shoulders, relieved.

"Please come inside, Hermione. We just made some tea."

He took her suitcase out of her hand, leading the way down the garden path towards the quirky cottage they called home. Luna looped her arm through Hermione's, granting her a bright smile as they followed. The Scamanders were so perfect for each other it was almost painful to be around them. From the moment they first met on an expedition in the Amazonian rainforest his grandfather invited his long-time correspondent and his remarkable daughter on, there existed no one else in the entire world in their eyes. Different in so many ways, they were exactly alike in all of the ways that mattered. Rolf and Luna were a perfect complement.

Hermione could never think about their unusual wedding ceremony without smiling. If Rolf was bothered by the _interesting_ ideas that his bride had for their wedding, he never let on for even a moment. Whatever made his Luna happy, made him happy. Sometimes she would watch Rolf watch Luna with a contented smile on his face that made her heart clench with both pride and happiness for her friend and envy for herself. She was sure that even in the beginning of their relationship when everything was fresh and new, Ron never looked at her like she was the only being in the entire universe. She'd never looked at _him_ that way either. If Hermione _believed_ in soulmates, which she didn't, they would be the very definition.

Crossing over the threshold of their welcoming cottage brought an even keener sense of relief to the distraught witch. Even more of her tears were still threatening to spill out of her eyes at any moment, but somehow it was just a little bit easier being inside their home. She knew she'd made the right decision to call on her trusted friends for refuge in her time of crisis. Luna would know what to do and say to help her. And if she didn't, Rolf would. They were the perfect partnership, always working in tandem to accomplish whatever needed done. Yet again, for the countless time since she met Rolf, Hermione had to push down the green monster of envy. Maybe what they had was so special that not everyone got to experience it themselves.

"Hello again, Mrs. Weasley."

Hermione spun around to see Xenophilius Lovegood entering the front room of the cottage from the corridor that led to most of the bedrooms. Dressed in trousers and a linen shirt positively covered in dirt, she could only imagine what she walked in on. If she'd discovered he'd just been buried alive, she wouldn't have been surprised by the amount of soil clinging to his clothing.

"She never changed her name, Xeno."

"No, she did, Rolf. She prefers to go by Granger-Weasley."

"Please, just call me Hermione."

What her last name was wasn't of any importance. Especially not when everything about her status as a married woman was still so up in the air. Feeling on the spot, Hermione's cheeks flushed and the room suddenly felt warm. There were too many people. She didn't know that Luna's father would be there when she asked if she could stay.

"I'm sorry, Luna. I should go. I didn't know your father would be here and I don't want to be an imposition."

"Nonsense. There's plenty of room. Dad has been helping Rolf in the garden."

When Luna set her mind to something, no one dared argue with her. It was always an exercise in futility. Nothing anyone said would ever dissuade her if she believed a certain way. Hermione learned that lesson the hard way while they were young and in school. As adults Luna might still say something that she disagreed with or couldn't possibly believe was true, but she no longer tried to convince her otherwise.

The lady of the house led her guest to a cozy bedroom tucked away in the attic. With all of the other bedrooms on the ground floor, Hermione had a great deal of privacy. She felt at home within an instant of entering. Fresh flowers on the nightstand filled the room with a sweet scent. The window overlooking the gardens Rolf was so proud of was halfway open to allow a delightful breeze into the room, freshening and cooling the air in the room that likely wasn't used very often. The soft bed dominated most of the space.

Rolf followed the two women with Hermione's suitcase in one hand and his wand levitating a tea tray in the other. Setting her suitcase next to the bed, he offered his guest a warm smile as his wife plucked the tray out of the air. He made his excuses, knowing that the women would be best left on their own. Suddenly nervous that she was going to have to be completely honest with Luna about the real reason for her visit, she watched Rolf exit the room and close the door behind him with a wistful desire that he would stay.

Luna didn't press Hermione for details immediately. She took her time pouring them both tea and fixing her friend's just the way she knew she liked it. In Luna's opinion, they had all of the time in the world. There was no reason to rush into a conversation that was likely to be unpleasant and uncomfortable. Before she handed the teacup over, the blonde looked up at her friend and offered her most encouraging smile.

"What's wrong, Hermione?"

Taking a deep breath to calm herself before she answered, Hermione was blunt, but honest.

"Ron asked me for a divorce last night."

The words were just out of her mouth before the tears began again. Somehow admitting out loud what happened the night before finally made it real. Choking sobs came out of her chest. She was humiliated that she was so out of control with her emotions. How could anyone take her seriously if she could allow herself to become so distraught? Not caring about any of that, Luna wrapped her arms around her friend. Hermione only cried harder at the show of affection.

She knew that Luna spoke soothing words of comfort while she cried, but she couldn't repeat them or even remember them. Just the tone of her voice was enough to help calm her down somewhat. One part about her friendship with Luna that she always cherished was the fact that there was never any judgment when it came to the quirky witch. She took her friends as they were and loved them fiercely despite all of their faults. Never once did Hermione have to wonder if Luna was being insincere. She knew she didn't even understand _how_ to be less than genuine. It was a trait that she admired and also envied just a tiny bit.

When the tears subsided and she could breathe normally again, Luna released her grip. At once Hermione lamented the loss of the human touch. She hadn't realized how positively _starved_ she was for just the simplest of connections. No one had held her like that in a very long time. Well, unless she considered when Cormac McLaggen did it in the early hours of that morning, but she absolutely would _not_ consider that to be the same. That had merely been a moment of embarrassing weakness. Likely, he would never let her live it down. She would come to regret it and possibly might have to leave the country if she wanted to have any peace at all from the obnoxious man.

"Do you know what you are going to do next?"

Luna handed Hermione a teacup and encouraged her to take a sip. The warm liquid slid down Hermione's throat, settling into her belly as a delightful, soothing comfort. Almost instantly she felt calmer than she had since the whole horrible, wretched ordeal began.

"I don't really know. That's what frightens me."

"Most people take their lives as they come. They don't plan every second."

Hermione felt her eyes begin to droop. Between little to no sleep the night before and all of the crying she'd done since, she was exhausted. Sensing that her friend needed sleep more than conversation, Luna stood to her feet, kissed Hermione on the forehead, and suggested she lay down for a long nap. There was, again, no reason to argue. She thanked Luna as she carried the tray out of the bedroom for giving her a place to stay. A warm smile was her reply. Only moments after she stretched across the comfortable bed, she was deep asleep.

* * *

It occurred to Hermione only when she opened her eyes to see the sun begin its slow ascent into the morning sky that she didn't see Luna take a single sip of the tea her husband carried up the stairs for them to share. Smiling to herself for the unexpected deviousness of the couple she loved dearly, she was thankful that at least one of the Scamanders had the presence of mind to slip a calming potion in her tea. Likely a Dreamless Sleep potion as well. Without one, she wasn't sure that she would've been able to fall asleep at all.

The cottage was quiet, no sign that anyone else was awake yet. She was careful in getting up out of bed that she didn't make too much noise. There was a serenity in the early morning hours that she didn't want to disturb. Staring out the window at the gardens just coming into the light, Hermione desired nothing more than to go for a long walk. Whether Rolf intentionally had plants intended to soothe his visitors or if it was just the indescribable magic of the place, she'd always felt relaxed when roaming the grounds of their property. She dressed quickly, thankful for the small bathroom attached to her attic room. An early morning stroll by herself sounded like heaven. She was afraid if one of the occupants heard her wake up, they would insist on following her outside.

No one heard her leave through the back door. Or if they did, they pretended they hadn't. The early morning air was crisp and cool. She took a deep calming breath, thankful once again that she chose to seek refuge with the Scamanders. In the middle of the garden, there was a bench surrounded by tall plants that was both hidden from the cottage and offered the perfect location to watch the sunrise. If she hurried, she knew that she'd get there in time to witness one of nature's most beautiful moments.

Unfortunately, the problem with the bench being so secluded was that one couldn't see if it was already occupied until they turned the corner and stood right in front of it. Expecting to find an empty spot, Hermione let out a quiet, surprised gasp when she found Xenophilius already seated, watching the sunrise as he sipped a cup she assumed to be filled with tea. It was too late to slip away, pretending like she hadn't been there. The eccentric wizard's slightly crossed pale silvery eyes met hers and he smiled.

"Good morning, Hermione."

She'd never been alone with the man before and felt terribly uncomfortable with the prospect of it. Befriending his daughter had had its own challenges. Having an entire conversation without another person present as a buffer sounded dreadfully awkward. What could they possibly discuss? She knew nothing about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks or nargles or any of the ridiculous conspiracy theories he printed each month in his magazine.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Lovegood. I didn't know you were here. I don't wish to disturb you."

She was only able to get a few steps away before his insistence that she stay persuaded her not to leave. And the fact that he lifted a basket filled with fresh scones. Her stomach rumbled in protest at its lack of food. When was the last time she had anything to eat? She couldn't really remember. Probably the meal she prepared that Ron stood her up for. Taking a seat next to Xenophilius on the bench, she nibbled at her breakfast.

There was an odd way about the wizard that she discovered she found soothing. In so many ways just like his daughter, Hermione soon found herself more at ease in his presence. He kept up a running commentary about the fascinating plants that Rolf planted in the garden near where they sat. She was surprised to find that though she already knew _some_ of what he told her, there was much more she didn't. Apparently he wasn't just full of completely useless knowledge about beings and creatures that didn't exist.

When she finished her first scone, he held up the basket to allow her to get a second. His eyes lingered on her bare left hand. Just as she had with Cormac the previous day, she felt uncomfortable and embarrassed by the scrutiny. She might as well have been wearing a sign around her neck encouraging strangers to ask her questions about her crumbling marriage. It turned out to be a futile hope that he wouldn't make mention of it.

"Are you and your husband splitting up?"

Xenophilius had a blunt way about him, but he wasn't unkind. Hermione wasn't sure how she was going to answer his question. While she could certainly play the injured party and declare her personal life was none of his business, she didn't have the heart to do so. Feeling overwhelmed yet again, but strangely, without the threat of more tears, she sighed. If she could trust Luna, she decided that she could trust her dad.

"He's asked me for a divorce, but nothing is settled yet."

"Is it not?"

Her stomach sank with the weight of his simple question. While she and Ron hadn't _really_ talked about it yet, was he right? If she stayed away a few days and returned home to their flat relaxed and calm, would they still be talking about ending their marriage? Or would he have come to his senses and realized that he missed her and didn't want to live his life without her in it? As frustrating as she found their marriage at times, she _did_ love Ron, very much. She'd spent a large portion of her life imagining a future with him in it. If it was all settled, what would become of her?

"Most of us keep thoughts of our own unhappiness pushed down deep inside until we can no longer contain them."

Xenophilius was right, of course. She knew that all too well. It had become increasingly difficult as of late to ignore how miserable she actually was. Not just in her marriage, but it certainly was a large part of it all.

"Are you happy, Hermione?"

She started to give the expected answer that she was, but she couldn't bring herself to utter the words. It was a lie. _No_ , she wasn't. Xenophilius smiled, though there was a hint of sadness behind his eyes.

"Your silence tells me a great deal."

Allowing herself to really take a moment to think about it, Hermione was frustrated to learn that she couldn't rightly remember the last time she was truly happy. Sure, there were moments here and there where she was able to find joy. Despite their problems, she and Ron could make each other laugh even in the worst possible times. Sometimes she found fulfillment in her job. It made her feel useful when she was able to help some of the house-elves still struggling with the concept of freedom. She had friends that she loved too. They could brighten her world. But, was she _happy_? No, she knew she wasn't.

"You married into a good family. I've been proud to know the Weasleys for most of my life. Ron was your best friend and I've always been of the opinion that that's how all marriages should begin."

"I love him."

"Of course you do, but is that _enough_?"

She considered his wise words. Who knew that a Lovegood could be so insightful? Loving someone was, indeed, not always enough to keep a relationship going. She knew that. Marriage was hard, _much_ harder than anyone ever told her before she recited her vows under the tent in the Weasleys' garden.

"Sometimes, in our haste to fix that which _shouldn't_ be fixed, we miss out on what else is possible."

Since she was in Hogwarts, Hermione knew what she wanted her future to be like. Or rather, what she _assumed_ it would be like. She would be changing the world from within the Ministry. Ron would be at her side. They would have a sensible-sized family, no Quidditch team for them. There would always be a place for her in her adoptive family, the Weasleys. How could she hope to go forward in her life without those plans still in place? The very idea frightened her.

"I learned that lesson the hard way, I'm afraid. Seven years in an unhappy marriage."

His words piqued Hermione's interest. From everything she knew about Luna's parents, they'd been desperately in love. The reason he never remarried after her untimely death was because he was heartbroken. Had her friend simply created the fantasy of true love between her parents to help her cope with her loss? If so, it was tragic.

"Don't misunderstand me. I loved my first wife dearly."

"Your _first_ wife?"

Xenophilius turned to offer her a smile.

"Yes, I was married twice."

"I didn't know that."

"Most people don't remember. We were sweethearts at Hogwarts. Lovely woman, but terribly _boring_ , I'm afraid."

His amused smirk made Hermione chuckle. If Xenophilius Lovegood believed someone to be boring, they were likely about as normal as it was possible to be. She'd heard many stories about Pandora Lovegood over the years from their daughter. There was _nothing_ boring about her. Up until the very moment that she died in a horrible accident, she was unpredictable and exciting.

"We married because everyone expected us to. It was pleasant in the beginning, but it didn't take long before we realized we had nothing in common."

"What did you do?"

"I tried at first to be the kind of husband she wanted. Tried to put aside my interests for what interested her."

He shook his head.

"Didn't help. There's a saying. 'Women marry men hoping they will change. Men marry women hoping they won't. They both end up disappointed.' It was true, at least in my own marriage."

Hermione considered his words. She'd heard the same saying at some point, but she never paid it much heed. Xenophilius was right. It _was_ true. How many times had she wished over the years that she was with Ron that something that was fundamental about his personality would miraculously change one day? She wanted him to be more thoughtful, to care more about what she was involved in at work, to share more of her interests. Just like Xenophilius, he tried… in the beginning. When it became too difficult and they drifted apart, he was less and less concerned with what she did. The same could be said about her. While she couldn't pinpoint the moment it started exactly, she knew she stopped trying too. Two people have to be fully invested in a marriage to make it work. She honestly could say that there was a moment when she stopped being fully invested.

And the part about the woman changing… had she? _Yes_ , she thought. She wasn't the same person that Ron fell in love with years earlier. Life changed her whether she wanted to admit it or not. Some of the disillusion she discovered about being an adult changed her. Many of her idealistic beliefs about what she would be capable of once she was out of school were crushing disappointments. She'd allowed the harshness of life to alter her. It wasn't much of a stretch to believe that Ron wished she was still the girl who kissed him in the heat of the final battle.

"What happened?"

"We both came to the correct conclusion that we weren't doing anything but making the other miserable. Sure, it would've been easy to stay, to keep living the lie. It was a bit of a scandal when we filed for divorce, but I'm glad we did. If we hadn't, I never would've met Pandora and Luna wouldn't be here. Can you even imagine what a dismal world that would be?"

Hermione smiled. It was refreshing to see a man who loved his daughter so much. Perhaps later when she was alone and had time to analyze every sentence of their conversation, she would find herself envious of Luna's good fortune. Certainly _her_ father wasn't nearly as proud of her as Xenophilius was of his daughter. He likely never would be.

"What happened to your ex-wife?"

"Oh, she turned out all right as well. Married some _boring_ wizard named MacMillan she adored and had a _boring_ son a year ahead of Luna. By all accounts, their boring little family is quite happy."

He winked and they both chuckled. Hermione never would've guessed that Ernie MacMillan's mother was once married to the eccentric Xenophilius Lovegood. Every time she'd crossed the woman's path in the past, she thought she was a fairly bland creature. Just as her ex-husband claimed, she _was_ a bit boring. Of course, to be fair to the MacMillans, _most_ of the rest of the world's inhabitants would be considered boring by the man.

"So, just as I said earlier, sometimes we try to fix that which _shouldn't_ be fixed just because we've been programmed to believe we should. If you've not been happy with your husband and he's not been happy with you, perhaps it's best for both of you to move on. There's someone out there that is perfect for everyone. I found mine."

It saddened Hermione to know that the great love of his life was dead. Luna once confessed that she was worried that her father would always remain alone. She wanted him to be happy, especially after she and Rolf married. Being a father and a grandfather brought him joy, but she didn't think it was enough to sustain him properly. Before she could talk herself out of asking an impertinent question that was really none of her business, she blurted out her thoughts.

"Do you think there is someone else out there for you now? Even after Mrs. Lovegood…"

There was sadness in his eyes and in his smile when he spoke of his late wife. It was evident that he had indeed loved her deeply.

"There will _never_ be anyone like my Pandora, _but_ I haven't given up completely on love. I have a charming friend who is in a similar place. Perhaps when we are both ready to move on, we can do so together."

He wouldn't offer any further information about who his mystery lady might be. Hermione wouldn't dream of asking either. As curious as she might be, it was none of her business. She shouldn't have asked about his late wife to begin with. Didn't everyone deserve their privacy?

"I'm not sure that my marriage is over yet. Ron might have just been angry the other night. Nothing has been settled."

"Has he ever mentioned divorce in the heat of an argument before?"

"No, but that doesn't mean anything. Maybe after a few days apart, he will calm down and we can discuss the future a little more rationally."

Xenophilius didn't seem convinced. His smile slipped off his face.

"Are you sure you would want to even try to reconcile with him after he asked for a divorce? You don't usually even mention that option unless you've already been thinking about it for a while."

Whatever answer she was going to stutter out and give was interrupted by the arrival of Xenophilius' twin grandsons running to greet their grandfather and their honorary aunt. Luna was only steps behind, completely unaware of the serious nature of the conversation they were walking up on. Hermione was grateful for the excuse to end the intense discussion. As valuable as she knew it had been, she wasn't ready to give Xenophilius the answer to his question. She wasn't sure she was ready to even tell herself the true answer.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

By Sunday evening, Hermione knew she could no longer remain hidden in the Scamanders' home. It was time that she faced the crushing reality she feared. Every moment she spent in the company of Luna's family was one she would always treasure. In their own special way, each person made her feel valued and appreciated. She hated to recall how long it had been since she last truly felt important to anyone. Everyone else was her priority and yet, _she_ was no one's priority. At least for the several days she was there, the Scamanders made her feel like she was cherished and wanted.

"If you need to come back, you are _always_ welcome."

So many people would be quick to make the same offer, but Hermione knew that Luna actually meant it. As she stood at the gate on the edge of their property, Hermione hugged her friend tight, thankful that she'd not had to be alone in the days her world was turned on its side. Rolf kissed her cheek when his wife released his hold on their guest. With a wave to Xenophilius near the house holding a twin in each arm, Hermione stepped out onto the dusty lane. Focusing on the dark corner behind her building, she spun in place to return home.

She wasn't sure what kind of reception she would get when she pushed open the front door to her flat. Every step closer to the home she shared with her husband increased the intensity and of the churning in her guts. It was temping to turn around and run back to Luna's. Tempting, but not practical. She couldn't spend the rest of her life running just because it seemed like it might be easier.

A silent plea to the contents of her stomach to remain right where they were and multiple deep breaths were necessary to give her the strength to finally enter the space. She thought it strange how forbidding and uncomfortable it felt. Almost as if the flat wanted her to know without any confusion that she no longer belonged there. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes that she swore to herself she would not shed. Weakness or not, she didn't care. She wouldn't give her husband the opportunity to accuse her of trying to manipulate him. Not again.

Nothing about the flat seemed out of place when Hermione stepped inside and closed the door behind her. It was as if she'd just walked out of it minutes earlier instead of days. Pushing down the bitter thought that it was evident she wasn't really needed there, she listened for any sounds of life. Ron usually spent Sunday evenings at home. The shop closed early and he rarely scheduled himself to work unless they were short-staffed. Once upon a time Sunday was her favorite day of the week. They spent it entirely together. Even if they met family or friends outside of their home, she knew she could count on one entire day with her husband.

She didn't have the heart to go down to the end of the corridor where the door to their bedroom was closed. Much like the rest of the flat, it felt unwelcoming. Instead, she set her small suitcase down on the floor just inside their guest room. When everything was settled and she knew for certain whether or not her husband was still determined to move forward with the dissolution of their marriage, she could move it back into their shared bedroom, if necessary. She didn't want to consider the possibility that she would need the suitcase again soon.

There was a bottle of wine in the kitchen she was desperate to drink. Maybe it was cowardly to rely on alcohol to make the impending discomfort bearable, but she didn't care. She also hoped that a few sips would help to settle her displeased stomach. Why did she suddenly feel like she'd eaten spoiled meat?

"Hermione?"

She almost spilled the entire bottle at the sound of her name. Ron always seemed to have a knack for sneaking up on her when she least expected it. Once it had been a recurring joke that never failed to earn a laugh. Turning her head to look over her shoulder, Hermione met the uneasy gaze of her husband's blue eyes. Drops of water fell off the end of his hair. It was past time he had a proper haircut.

"Have you been here long? I was in the shower."

"Alone?"

He balked at her petulant question, entirely confused. Not trusting herself to take their discussion down a very uncomfortable path too soon, she turned her attention back to the glass of wine she hadn't finished pouring.

"Of _course_ I was alone."

He started to say something else, but stopped himself with a sigh. The emphasis he placed on his response was interesting. Surely he must have known that she suspected there was something unspoken between the two of them, something that they were both trying to ignore. Hermione was curious to know if he would try to deny that he was having some sort of inappropriate correspondence with a woman she didn't know anything about. She'd seen the parchment for herself and scribbled out a response in a convincing replica of his handwriting. He would be a fool if he tried to deny it.

Many people who didn't know Ron Weasley very well would try to claim that he _was_ a fool. Hermione always thought it was an unfair assessment. The world's inhabitants weren't easily divided into simple boxes. She enjoyed school and had a thirst to learn and prove herself. As she once told Harry, books and cleverness weren't the most important things. Ron wasn't interested much in his classes when they were in school, but that absolutely did not mean that he was stupid or some sort of neanderthal who could only communicate in grunts and clicks of his tongue. His logical, strategic mind fascinated his wife. Numerous times over the years of first their friendship and then their marriage, she was amazed by an observation or an idea that he came up with that she would've never dreamed of if left on her own. The way that he was able to provide such meaningful insights into topics she didn't know much about beyond what could be read in a book was impressive. She repeatedly wished that more people would give him the credit that he was due. Ron was not stupid by any means. And as they grew older and both matured, the evidence of that fact was indisputable.

So she refused to believe that the man she married would be able to play dumb convincingly. It was hurtful to imagine that he was carrying on some sort of relationships with another woman behind her back. For yet another time in her life she felt as if she was only second-best, simply the one who was 'good enough' until someone better came along. Had she not already had the fear and concern that her husband would leave her the moment he received a more attractive offer? Concerned that she wouldn't be able to get through the conversation without dissipating into a blubbery mass of tears, Hermione pushed thoughts of the other woman to the side for the present.

"Luna and Rolf send their love."

"That's very kind of them. I'm glad you were able to spend a few days with them."

"The twins are growing so fast. You wouldn't even recognize them. Xenophilius was there too. He really is a lovely man. I feel badly for laughing about him for so many years. It really wasn't fair."

She rambled when she was nervous or the slightest bit uncomfortable. Once, it was a quirk of hers that Ron found adorable until he found it unbearably annoying. Expecting to see an expression of exasperation on his face, she was surprised, even a bit startled, to see nothing but deep sadness instead.

"Hermione…"

She couldn't bear to hear the way he said her name. It was too soft, too serious, too unlike how her sweet, funny husband used to say it. Holding up a hand to interrupt whatever he was about to say to completely change her world, Hermione stared at her kitchen floor, cursing the tears filling up her eyes, and trying very hard to steady her breathing. A foolish part of her hoped that her absence would show him exactly what he was missing if he chose to go through with that awful d-word she didn't even want to remember.

While huddled underneath Luna's quilt in her attic bedroom, she convinced herself that she could learn to forgive her husband for any mistake he made if he wanted to forget his request and try to make their marriage work again. After all, she didn't know if his owl correspondence ever became anything physical. If it hadn't, she'd done much worse with Viktor in a weak moment. Their owls had been far from appropriate. Though it had only been _one_ heated kiss, there were plans made for more that she almost went through with. Wasn't forgiveness a critical component to every relationship, romantic or otherwise? Everyone made mistakes, even terrible ones. She hoped that Ron would forgive _her_ if he ever uncovered the truth about her almost-affair.

"Hermione, we can't keep avoiding this."

Instead of trying to ignore the high probability that there was another woman, something in his impassioned statement made Hermione suddenly want to do the exact opposite. Emotions weren't always rational, especially when she was upset. The need to point out his indiscretion and paint him as the baddie was almost overpowering in its fervor. Hermione never liked to feel like she was the one at fault for anything. Perhaps it wasn't the most mature behavior, but she didn't care. Didn't everyone possess traits they weren't proud of?

"You're right, Ronald. We can't keep avoiding this. Who is she?"

The tears that threatened to spill out onto her cheeks were forgotten. No longer did she feel the urge to weep when she was overcome with righteous indignation. Her husband embarrassed her, made her feel like she wasn't worthy or wanted. In varying levels of severity, whether consciously or not, he'd been doing it for years.

"' _She_ '? What are you talking about, Hermione?"

"The woman you've been owling."

He rolled his eyes and threw his head back in a dramatic move. Clearly he wasn't expecting their discussion to go straight to his indiscretions. Was he really that foolish and naïve?

"Don't even try to deny it. I saw the parchment. Who was owling you late at night asked if you'd talked to me yet?"

"Angelina."

A quiet gasp came out of her mouth involuntarily at his confession. The vivacious professional Quidditch player married to his older brother wasn't even a possibility in Hermione's mind. She feared that everything was even more complicated than she knew. Did George know about the secretive relationship between his younger brother and wife? How many marriages were going to be ruined in the Weasley family when all of the truth was finally laid bare?

"Angelina? How could you, Ron? She's your _brother's_ wife."

"I know very well who she is, thank you. I don't need you to tell me."

"Does your _brother_ know about it? Or should we let George know about his wife's own inappropriate behavior?"

"What are you on about? Her 'inappropriate behavior'?"

All at once her words made sense to the confused wizard. Flashes of deep crimson appeared on his cheek and neck. No longer annoyed, he was _angry_. Hermione felt nervous for one of the first times in her marriage. Even though he'd never hurt her physically and he'd never given her reason to fear that he would start, she knew they'd never had such an intense discussion about such a sensitive topic. She slipped her hand in the pocket of her robe, prepared for the heartbreaking possibility that she might have to resort to dueling her own husband if his temper grew out of control.

"Angelina and I have _never_ been 'inappropriate' in any sort of way. I can't believe you'd even ask me that. She's just as good as my sister."

"Then why was she owling you so late about me? It sounded as if she _knew_ you were going to ask me for a divorce."

His anger all but melted away to be replaced with the same sadness she'd seen in his face earlier. Had she completely misread the entire late-night owl situation? Her first instinct was to jump immediately to infidelity, but was that fair to the husband she still loved very much? He'd never given her reason to suspect he wasn't completely faithful. Not even in the midst of the days of their worst fighting. Two years earlier, they'd fought almost every single day. And not just inconsequential rows about who would clean the kitchen or what they wanted to eat for dinner. No, they were often screaming arguments that would've had the Muggle police called if they didn't always make certain their flat was covered with numerous silencing spells to keep their neighbors from knowing what happened inside. There used to be a great deal of passion between them, but no longer. Even their fights rarely had any heat to them. At some point, they'd become little more than flatmates.

"Because that night I was at their house. The three of us, _George_ included, discussed it. She made me swear that I would talk to you when I got home. Said that it wasn't fair to you that I kept pretending like nothing was wrong."

"You said you were with Seamus and Dean."

"And I _was_ , but I left after a couple of pints. George knew something was wrong. Practically forced me to go to their house. You know Angelina. It doesn't take her long to make you talk, even when you don't want to."

Hermione was embarrassed to admit that she _didn't_ know Angelina very well. Of all of her sisters-in-law, she was the one she had the least in common with. Thanks in part to her rigid traveling schedule with her Quidditch team, George's wife was away a lot. At least, Hermione chose to use that as an excuse as to why she never spent much time with the woman who'd only been a couple of years ahead of her in school. Rarely did they ever visit each other and certainly never just the two of them. It was no wonder she didn't recognize Angelina's handwriting. There had been very few opportunities for her to see it over the years they were married to the brothers.

"So there's not someone else?"

Ron sighed, seeming to measure his words carefully. His pause didn't instill a lot of confidence in Hermione. She worried what he was going to say next. If there was not a woman she needed to be worried about, wouldn't he just come right out and admit it immediately without the need to think about it first? Perhaps the letter from Angelina had been completely innocent. His explanation made sense, but maybe that wasn't all. Was there more to the conversation his sister-in-law wanted him to have with his wife?

"There's the _idea_ of someone."

It wasn't the answer she was expecting. Far from it. What did it even mean? Her confusion must have been evident on her face because Ron took one look at her and continued.

"Do you remember several months ago when George and I met the witches and wizards from the Canadian Ministry of Magic?"

"Of course I remember. They were interested in learning more about your line of protective and defensive products. I _do_ pay attention when you speak, Ronald."

"Yes, well, there was an auror who was fascinated by the shield charms on the hats. Asked a dozen different questions. She really liked the anti-summoning charm I suggested we add to keep the hats in place even in the midst of a heated duel. It felt _good_ to have someone hanging on my every word, Hermione. I felt interesting and important. Honestly, it's been a very long time since I thought you gave a damn about what I do."

She couldn't deny that conversations between them about their respective careers had been few and far between in recent years. There was a time they discussed that part of their lives in great detail every day. Dinners were often animated and filled with laughter or sympathy when the other had had a rough one. As Hermione became less and less satisfied with her job and feared that she would never be able to make a meaningful difference in anyone's life, she brought her anger and frustration home. She knew that it bothered Ron when she had nothing but complaints about her job. Any time he would offer her a suggestion or mention that maybe she should look for another position, she'd grown angry and resentful. It didn't take long before neither one of them were interested in continuing their once-regular conversations. Maybe she hadn't been doing a very good job at reminding her husband that she thought he was interesting. No, she _knew_ she hadn't been good about it. Everyone needed validation from the one they loved the most. She needed it and had been stingy in offering it.

"Did something happen between the two of you?"

"Absolutely not. I'll admit that I _thought_ about it, but I didn't follow through. I'm married and I've never forgotten that. Not even for a moment. It wouldn't have mattered even if I did. She was engaged to one of the other blokes and quick to let me know it. But, she had a lot of great ideas. Whenever she's struck with a new one, she scribbles it down and sends it by owl. Some of them are practical, but most of them just make me laugh. She's got a very vivid imagination."

It bothered Hermione immensely to witness her husband smile wistfully at the thought of another woman. Especially when it was exactly how he used to smile when he thought of her. How long had it been since he looked at his wife in the same way? She believed him that nothing inappropriate happened. He wasn't a man who appreciated lying. Sometimes he was painful in his blunt replies, but he was honest. On one hand she could count the number of times he'd lied to her over the years. No, he would be honest with her, especially since he had nothing to lose. Didn't he already ask her for the divorce?

"So the late-night owls you've been getting that make you smile?"

"I'm sure they're not late-night owls when she sends them. They've all come on Canadian Ministry parchment. I'm sure she writes them down when she's in her office and by the time the international owl service gets them here, it's very late. And they make me smile because some of them are hilarious. She had this idea for this cloak that has a warming… oh, well, it's not important. Just highly impractical. And probably illegal in at least seventeen different countries. She should really stick to being an auror and not try to get into research and development."

"Why wouldn't you tell me about her? Or at least about the owls you've been getting?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"I didn't think you were interested in knowing what I've been working on and there was nothing to say about her. I thought she was pretty and part of me wished that I wasn't married. Surely you've felt the same way before."

She knew it was the perfect opportunity to bring up Viktor, but she couldn't bring herself to admit that she'd gone much further than simply having a harmless crush on someone she found attractive. Instead of making her confession, she focused on all that she still didn't understand. Several questions ran through her mind, each more frustrating than the last. Unsure where to begin, she tried to ask the one that was most logical.

" _Why_ was Angelina so insistent that you talk to me?"

Ron appeared to be gathering his thoughts before he spoke again. For someone that was usually so quick to just say whatever he was thinking, regardless of whether or not he might actually hurt the feelings of the one he was speaking to, it was an unusual occurrence. Had he grown emotionally when she wasn't paying attention? As much as she hated to admit it, Hermione knew that she hadn't really noticed what her husband was up to in a long time. Living with him had become more like having a flatmate than an actual romantic partner. She was just as guilty, sometimes more, than he was for not doing enough to keep their marriage engaging and interesting. It bothered her to realize that the man leaned against the doorway to the kitchen was more of a stranger than the funny, young wizard she married just eight years earlier. Did he feel the same way about her?

"Because she knew that I've been unhappy for a long time. I made the mistake of telling George about the owls and he told her. She thought they were inappropriate."

"Were they?"

"If you're asking whether the _content_ was inappropriate, then no. Absolutely not. They were perfectly innocent and I would be willing to let you _and_ my mum read them all. But Angelina thought it was wrong that I was keeping up any sort of correspondence with a woman I wasn't married to without you knowing. Said that if she found out George was doing it, she'd be upset and wonder why he was keeping it from her."

Professional correspondence was hardly a matter to get worked up about. If Ron hadn't admitted that he found the Canadian auror attractive, Hermione might not have even cared. Angelina was right. If it felt like Ron had to hide something from the woman he married, it was probably wrong.

"Angie… Angie has a way of making me talk even when I don't want to. I told her that I wished…"

He sighed, unsure if he should complete his thought. Hermione wasn't sure she wanted him to tell her either. Part of her foolishly hoped when she was staying at Luna's that her husband would come to realize how much he missed her when she was gone, how much he didn't want his life to change, how wrong he was to ask her for a divorce. She built up such a fantasy in her head that she would come back home, they would talk, and then everything would be smoothed over. Every second that she stood in the kitchen sipping at her wine listening to Ron, she knew that it was becoming less and less likely that they would come out of their current predicament with their marriage still intact.

"What do you wish, Ron?"

She almost didn't recognize her voice when she finally forced herself to ask the question. So soft and weak, it was only an echo of the tone she used when she was upset with him. Their passionate rows seemed to be a thing of the past. If forced, she wasn't even sure she could muster up enough strength to raise her voice. She was suddenly very tired, _exhausted_.

"I wish I didn't insist that we go to counseling two years ago."

If an outsider could pinpoint the moment that their marriage seemed to really end, Hermione knew it would be the tense days that Ron thought they could fix their problems by speaking with a marriage counselor. Mind Healing was something of a new trend in the wizarding world, but she'd made mention numerous times in their marriage about the resources available to Muggles. Ron witnessed firsthand several loved ones go through the difficulties of post-traumatic stress disorder after the last wizarding war ended. He'd been fascinated in learning that there were Muggles who were trying to help those in similar situations. Rarely had Hermione seen him so interested in a topic before. She gave him all of the information that she knew and even showed him where he could seek out more for himself. The night he threw out the ultimatum that they attend marriage counseling or end their marriage right then, she'd been shocked. She was even more shocked when he pulled a Muggle business card out of his pocket to show her where he wanted them to go.

Before they stepped into the office of the marriage counselor Ron had been referred to by a Muggle he met in his research, Hermione thought up a thousand different reasons why they shouldn't bother. How could they possibly explain all of their issues with someone who wasn't supposed to know that magic existed? Somehow they managed to find a way to avoid all talk of their secret world and the abilities they had. Apparently marriages weren't much different between wizards and witches as they were between Muggles. She'd hated every single minute they were in counseling and resented that Ron would force her to go. Maybe she knew subconsciously that it was all just a waste of time. There was no fixing their marriage. Not even a magic wand could do that.

When Ron finally gave up on the hope that the Muggle with the kind face could help them fix what was wrong, there had been a noticeable shifting in their marriage. Hermione believed that he resented her for not being willing to try harder. She just assumed that they were going through a rough spot that they'd eventually get through. Even while she stayed at Luna's house she believed that they would get through their rough patch and be able to look back years later to see how far they'd come. The churning in her gut she had been able to ignore since she entered the flat resumed in its intensity once she came to the conclusion that Ron wasn't going to change his mind.

"We weren't happy back then and telling a stranger our problems didn't help. I don't know why I thought it would."

"Maybe it didn't work because we didn't actually want it to work."

The words tumbled out of Hermione's mouth before she could stop them. Was that how she really felt? It was all too easy to suppress her true feelings, but the honesty that Ron shared with her opened up a part of her that didn't want to remain silent any longer. The sadness she felt earlier only compounded until she feared that she would be unable to hold herself up.

"Maybe you're right."

"I'm tired. I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Ron."

She set the empty wine glass next to the sink and rushed out of the kitchen before she burst into tears she couldn't control. As much as it pained her, she knew she couldn't step foot into the bedroom they once shared. It would be too much, too painful. Closing the door to the guest room sounded so final in her ears. A part of her life was over.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

There was no way for Hermione to be sure how long it took her to finally fall asleep in the cold guest room. All she knew was her alarm was going off long before she was ready. The bed itself had been comfortable. Purchased right before they exchanged their vows in the back garden of the Burrow, it had only been moved out of their shared bedroom a few months earlier when Ron insisted they needed to buy a larger bed. She tried not to take it personally, tried not to think it was because he wanted there to be more space between them even as they slept. Part of her was glad she didn't try to sleep in the larger bed. It had been terribly lonely when she slept in it alone the night Ron asked her for a divorce.

Even though the thought of returning to the Ministry filled her with dread, Hermione knew she had to keep moving as if her entire world wasn't crashing down around her ears. It was important that she didn't allow anyone to think she was weak and pathetic. She had enemies everywhere who wouldn't hesitate to find joy in her sorrow. Wretched bitches like Rita Skeeter would be thrilled to know her husband no longer wished to be married. No doubt they would dig around for dirt to prove that Hermione had it coming. Just imagining the glee in the hateful reporter's face was enough to give her the resolve to keep moving. If she allowed her circumstances to break her, she would give those foul creatures exactly what they wanted.

Taking special care with her appearance, Hermione took her time preparing for the day in the small bathroom connected to the spare bedroom. After spending the better part of a work day sniffling at her desk the last time she was in the office, she was determined that she would present a much stronger front. Hadn't she once broken out of Gringotts on the back of a dragon? She could handle a simple Monday.

The door to the bedroom at the end of the corridor was still closed when she stepped outside her temporary room. Ron usually slept later due to his flexible hours at the shop. After their uncomfortable talk the night before, she wasn't ready to face him again. Not when there was still so much unknown about her future. She didn't know what step she had to take next, what discussions had to be made. Being able to ignore her husband for a few hours would help her deal with her first day back.

It was cowardly to avoid the kitchen, but Hermione didn't give it much thought. There was a perfectly nice canteen inside the Ministry that would sell her breakfast. And at least there she wouldn't run the risk of seeing her husband again before she was ready and caffeinated. Imagining Ron walking into the kitchen while she fixed herself something to eat and asking her to feed him too just as he'd done countless times in the past set her teeth on edge. While he wouldn't see what was wrong and technically they'd been little more than flatmates for two years at least, just the thought was annoying.

Few people were inside the Ministry when Hermione stepped into the Atrium. She much preferred arriving when the building was still so quiet. The energy of the Ministry of Magic could be a bit overwhelming when it was bustling with its usual numbers of officials and visitors. It was easier to slip into the canteen without having a dozen people try to catch her attention. While her own subdivision was far from the most influential and powerful, her close friendships with both the Minister and Harry meant there were always those who thought they could earn a bit of favor by being overly kind to her. Politics could be exhausting. She'd long ago forgotten why she ever thought being the Minister for Magic would be a good idea.

"It's becoming something of a habit to run into you alone, isn't it?"

The first deep sips of her rich, dark coffee weren't even all the way to her stomach when she heard Cormac's voice just behind her back. Foolishly she'd hoped to have just a few minutes alone to fully wake up and enjoy the simple breakfast she'd purchased. Without waiting for an invitation that he surely would've never received, Cormac set his teacup and a plate piled high with toast on the table across from Hermione. Before she could tell him to find his own table, he was already in the chair. After her emotional night and little sleep, she didn't even have the necessary motivation to tell him to leave.

"Ever think it might be more fun to bump into each other accidentally somewhere like the Leaky Cauldron? Tea and coffee's fine, but fire whiskey is much better."

"Are you often in the habit of trying to chat up married women and invite them out for drinks, McLaggen?"

She wasn't sure why she was willingly engaging him in conversation. If she ignored him, eventually he would go away. Even the most persistent gnat moved on to another target at some point. Lifting her gaze from her coffee cup, she didn't miss how his eyes went immediately to her bare left hand. Why did he seem to be obsessed with her hand? It was unnerving. She wished she'd left in her lap. Worried that he would say something, she prepared herself for the moment she would have to tell him to bugger off. Instead, Cormac smiled widely, an expression she hated to admit made him even more attractive, and rose to his feet.

"Enjoy your breakfast, Hermione."

With another infuriating wink, Cormac picked up his plate of toast and walked out of the canteen. A tiny part of Hermione felt guilty about how rude she'd been to the wizard who seemed to just want to be friendly. There was a history between them and she _hated_ that he'd been a witness to her vulnerability and her breakdown in the stairwell. It was embarrassing. She wasn't sure she would ever be able to look at the man again without thinking about that night. _Why_ did he have to come back? _Why_ was he even in the Ministry so late that night? She shouldn't have run into anyone.

Deciding that she couldn't waste even more time dwelling on questions that likely didn't have adequate answers, she finished the rest of her coffee. There was no sense delaying her return to her office any longer. She held on to a hope that she would be able to distract herself with work. Maybe there would be enough to occupy her mind so she didn't even have a chance to feel sorry for herself. To her relief, Rose hadn't arrived yet. There would be at least another short break before she had to offer the poor witch a suitable explanation for why she'd cried at her desk and had to leave for days. Rose was a sweet girl who generally kept to herself, but Hermione worried she would still have to make a full confession.

"Good morning, Hermione."

She'd been able to lose herself in the stack of work left on her desk to the point she never heard the only other member of her subdivision enter the broom cupboard that masqueraded as their office. When she looked up from the parchment that captured her attention, Hermione was offered a bright smile. It helped to immediately put her at ease. Unlike the obnoxious grin Cormac couldn't seem to remove from his face, Rose's was genuine and kind. Never once asking her to explain why she'd left in such a rush the previous week, Hermione's assistant began filling her in on everything she missed in her absence.

"Thank you for taking care of it all while I was gone, Rose. I appreciate that I never have to worry with you in charge."

"It was my pleasure."

Rose's face lit up in another smile. Not for the first or the tenth or even the hundredth time, Hermione thought the pretty witch was wasting her time in their office. Sure, it felt nice to help the newly-freed house-elves find their place in their changing world, but with Tiberius Zeller as her father, she could've been in any department she wished. Hermione never could understand why she would stay in such a thankless role.

They were something of a joke within the Ministry. Only the Head of their division took them the least bit seriously and even Kenneth's boss, the Head of the entire department, couldn't keep a straight face whenever Hermione briefed him on the progress they were making in the career advancement of the free elves. Once she stepped out of his office after an impassioned plea to reconsider one of her proposals only to hear the horrible man burst into almost hysterical laughter. Few times in her life had ever been more humiliating. Ron suggested she hex him right in the trousers if he ever dared do it again. It had been the only one of her husband's "helpful suggestions" on how to improve her job that she actually liked.

As the morning progressed, Hermione found it impossible to keep her mind from wandering back to her bizarre encounter with Cormac in the Ministry canteen. She didn't understand why he wouldn't leave her alone. Hadn't she made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with him? Just because he witnessed her in a vulnerable moment and even offered her comfort did _not_ mean they were friends. They absolutely were _not_. Perhaps he was just another in a long line of those awful cretins who thought she could be used to further his career. If so, he was going to learn the hard way that she wasn't interested in helping him in any way.

"Are you all right, Hermione?"

For a second time that day Rose's soft voice startled her out of her thoughts. She looked across their shared double-sided desk piled high with documents and applications that never seemed to end to see nothing but concern in her assistant's eyes. A curt nod and a mumble that she was fine didn't fool anyone. Focusing on work and trying to dissect Cormac's motivations offered her a chance to not think about the looming decisions she had about her marriage. The reminder crashed down on her shoulders like a ton of bricks. Rose offered her a clean handkerchief before Hermione even realized tears were rolling out of her eyes.

There was no possible way that she could keep denying that there was something wrong. Not when they were in such close quarters and not when she was unable to keep her tears to herself. She accepted the handkerchief and did what she could to try to clean up her face. Rose wasn't an office gossip. That had been evident from the first day they worked together. No doubt she was privy to a lot of private information being so close to her father that she never shared. Hermione felt confident that she wouldn't even have to ask the younger witch to keep what she said between the two of them.

"Last week Ron asked me for a divorce."

Rose sighed. The tiniest flicker of pity crossed her features before she stifled it. Hermione was thankful. Concern was appreciated; pity was not. Her assistant reached across the top of their desk to gently squeeze Hermione's hand. The simple gesture proving that Rose cared for her was enough to get the tears flowing again. She had to make them stop because a part of her was afraid that if she allowed herself to give in to her crying, she'd never be able to stop.

"I'm very sorry to hear that. It's no wonder you needed a few days off."

She nodded, unsure what to say next. Rose didn't press her for details or seem to wish to continue the conversation. A quick glance at the clock on the wall showed that the morning was almost over. Soon the hordes of Ministry officials would be pouring out of their cramped offices to seek out their lunches. Not wishing to let any of them see her in such an emotional state, Hermione excused herself to rush into the ladies' lavatory before anyone saw her.

Just a few steps outside her office door, Hermione had her eyes focused on the floor instead of the person walking in her direction. Only when she bumped into a solid mass of masculinity did she bother to look up. Expecting to see Cormac thanks to her shit luck, she was relieved to find Kenneth Towler staring back. Too late she realized that she still had wet cheeks. She wiped at them with the handkerchief, but not fast enough.

"What's wrong, Hermione?"

Though it was usually asked out of concern, she was really getting sick of that question. _No_ , she was not all right, but how could she admit that without blurting out the entire ordeal her husband was determined to put her through? Sounding as though she was coming down with a heavy cold, Hermione did what she could to try to convince him that she was all right.

"I'm afraid I must've come down with a cold when I was out."

It was a ridiculous lie, one that could've easily been disproved. In an effort to allow her some sort of pride, Kenneth didn't say what he was no doubt thinking. He was an intelligent man. They'd both been Gryffindor prefects in her fifth year and his seventh. If he'd been an idiot, the professors wouldn't have suggested him for the responsibility of the position. Certainly Professor McGonagall wanted nothing but the most trustworthy students representing her House.

"Do you need some more time at home to recuperate?"

"No, thank you, Kenneth. I'm all right. I'll just make sure I stock up on Pepper-Up potion before I go home."

Even though it was painfully obvious that he desired nothing more than to stay until she gave him some sort of suitable explanation for her tears, Kenneth smiled and went on his way. She knew that she needed to be more careful about where and when she cried. What if someone else who hated her witnessed it instead? That nightmare Marietta Edgecombe worked on the same Level of the Ministry. She would likely commit murder to cause Hermione any sort of pain. The spots on her face might've long since disappeared, but the witch was the sort to hold a grudge.

She splashed water on her face inside the ladies' lavatory. A few well-placed beauty charms removed most of the evidence that she'd been crying. Magic didn't cure everything, unfortunately. There was nothing to be done about her red, puffy eyes beyond simply waiting for them to improve on their own. And trying not to cry again, of course. Charms to the eyes were tricky enough and doubly so when done on one's self. She wasn't sure that she was calm enough or her hands steady enough to even try. Once she was relatively confident that no one else would be able to tell that she had been crying, she began the walk back to her office.

Laughter spilling out the door of her shared workspace caught Hermione off-guard. Afraid of what she might walk into, she stepped to the side of the doorway where she could listen in without being seen. Perhaps it was cowardly to eavesdrop to discover whether or not her assistant was talking about her behind her back, but it wasn't as if she'd been displaying the most Gryffindorish of traits since the whole request for a divorce had been made. She was nervous to find out that Rose wasn't as kind as she thought she was. Maybe she was just pretending to be sympathetic so she could pass along what she learned to the snakes who wanted to see Hermione be humiliated.

"You tell the most ridiculous stories, Cormac. I don't believe half of them."

The low chuckle that followed Rose's statement caused Hermione to temporarily forget her concern that her assistant was gossiping about how pathetic her boss was. _Why_ was the horrible man inside her office bothering Rose? Not once had she ever had a male visitor of any sort in there. Stepping through the doorway revealed that the wizard had the audacity to perch his arse on the edge of their desk. Of course, if she allowed logic to reign supreme, she would've come to the conclusion that the room was so small there really was nowhere else to sit. Still, having the wizard who seemed to keep cropping up when and where she least expected it so close filled Hermione with an irritation she couldn't shake.

"What do you want, McLaggen?"

Undeterred by her tone of voice and the way her hands rested on her hips, Cormac laughed again. Hermione wasn't in the mood to deal with him. What could be so funny that he had to constantly laugh? She wanted to hex him straight in the bollocks. At least then he might make a better effort at avoiding her when she was nearby.

"I was _trying_ to convince your assistant to go to lunch with me."

"And I've told you repeatedly, Cormac, that I have too much work to do to take a lunch break."

"Oh, come on, Rosie, we all know that the work you lovely ladies do can keep for an hour."

Whether it was the easy way in which Cormac dismissed the importance of their work or her annoyance that he was bothering her assistant that upset Hermione the most, she couldn't be sure. Perhaps it was a combination of both. For years she'd been dismissed as being little better than an eccentric for her desire to improve the lives of the country's house-elves. How much longer would it be before she was taken seriously? And she truly hoped that Cormac wasn't stooping to the deplorable level of trying to seduce Rose for some nefarious purpose. She was a sweet girl who could do _so_ much better.

"I really shouldn't. Maybe another time."

"You've been rejecting my offer for lunch ever since I started working here. It's starting to hurt my feelings."

Rose's laugh sounded more annoying than it usually did. Or maybe Hermione was just in an awful mood. She didn't really fancy the idea of being stuck in such a closed space with two unattached people planning a date. It made her feel like punching her hand through the nearest wall. Why did the rest of the world get to go on like normal when she was still trying to figure out what to do next?

"Please go with him, Rose. Get him out of my hair. I can't even _think_ with the stench of his cologne filling up this room. I wish we had a window that opened."

"Are you sure, Hermione?"

"Yes, _please_. I don't want to be in the same room with him another moment."

Rose's face was no longer lit up with laughter. She seemed uncomfortable and even a bit bothered by her boss' reaction. Hermione felt the tiniest sliver of guilt at making the witch feel guilty. It wasn't her fault that she'd been in a bad mood for a long time or that she had history with the cretin still perched on her desk smiling in that awful, knowing way of his that she hated. Cormac made her feel like he could see straight through her knickers. Their past consisted only of a few kisses under enchanted mistletoe and a couple of embarrassing gropings in darkened corridors of the castle. If it had been up to him, they would've experienced a great deal more. It didn't matter how many years passed, she still felt unnerved by him.

"Perhaps Hermione would like to join us."

"Oh, of course. Would you like to come with us, Hermione?"

"Thank you, _Rose_ , but no, I would not. I need to get caught up on all of the work I missed."

She wasn't able to breathe easy until both of them left her alone for their lunch date. When Rose returned to the office, Hermione resolved to have a serious discussion with her on her choice of wizards. There were Death Eaters locked up in Azkaban for the rest of their lives that would make a better partner. Cormac seemed to be the 'love them and leave them' type. Sweet Rose didn't need to have her heart broken when she had been so careful with it for so many years. She felt protective of her assistant. Most of the friends Hermione had were more Ron's than hers. But not Rose. Knowing that she was likely going to lose many of those so-called friends in the impending divorce, it was even more important to her that she hold on to the ones she had.

There was no point in leaving her office for a midday meal. Each time she found her mind wandering from the parchment she examined to thoughts of her husband, she felt a heavy churning in her stomach. Just thinking about eating made her want to throw up. She closed her eyes and forced herself to take a series of deep, calming breaths. Getting through a single day back at work was supposed to be easy, but it wasn't. She was distracted. Begrudgingly, she had to agree with Cormac's assessment that the work they did could indeed keep for an hour. It could keep for much longer than that if she was completely honest. Tedious and never-ending, there was always going to be more, but house-elves could be exceedingly patient. Most of them didn't even want the services their subdivision offered. None of them were likely to come to the Ministry demanding that they push their applications for benefits through any faster.

Rose returned to the office with a hesitant smile that grated on Hermione's nerves. She felt completely out of control of her emotions. Was that normal in her situation or should she be worried? The thought of returning to any sort of therapist or psychiatrist to talk about her issue made her sick to her stomach again. That absolutely was _not_ going to happen.

"You know McLaggen has a terrible reputation when it comes to witches, don't you, Rose?"

The smile and the playful roll of her eyes was a surprise to Hermione. Did her assistant think she was being ridiculous? She had enough worldly experience to know what she was talking about. Rose gave all appearances of being a bit innocent and naïve.

"Oh, I'm _very_ familiar with Cormac's reputation, but I also know it's almost complete bollocks."

Though she was curious to know just exactly how well her assistant knew the wizard, Hermione also respected that they both had private lives that were none of her business.

"You should've come with us. It would've been better than staying cooped up in here."

"I wouldn't want to be a third wheel."

"Oh, you wouldn't have."

"Besides, McLaggen and I have an uncomfortable history."

Her assistant giggled. Instantly the sound put Hermione on the defensive. Had they discussed what happened between them when they were in school? Sensing she was uncomfortable, Rose grew serious.

"I might've only been a second year when you went with Cormac to Sluggie's party, but I remember it. Sarah Williams was in the same year as Cormac but in my House. He was _supposed_ to take her until you asked him. She stomped around the common room cursing his existence and swearing she would never even _look_ at another Gryffindor for as long as she lived."

"Wait, Sarah Williams? Didn't she marry…"

Rose giggled again, but it only made Hermione smile that time.

"…Lee Jordan. Apparently she never missed a broadcast of _Potterwatch_ and the crush she'd had on him in her third year resumed at such a full-force that she forgot her promise. After the war, she asked _him_ out."

Hermione had no idea about all of the drama she unintentionally stirred up when she asked Cormac to attend the Slug Club Christmas party with her just to annoy Ron. Though she wasn't close with the Jordans, she knew they were a very happily married couple with at least one, perhaps two, young daughters. She got the impression that Sarah was likely not still broken up about her missed date.

"But, I'm serious about lunch. You should've gone with us. It would've been fun. Cormac would've been able to ask _you_ all of the questions he kept asking me."

"What sorts of questions was he asking?"

"Well, he wanted to know if I really liked working with you and then he started asking me if you were all right. He's concerned about you, Hermione."

She scoffed, refusing to believe that that was the truth. What was more likely was that he wanted to hear the gossip straight from her assistant. Perhaps he had some sort of agreement with Rita Skeeter for intimate details about her life. There was no way she would believe that he actually _cared_ about her.

"You can choose to believe it or not, but it's true. Cormac is sweet. You'd know that if you gave him half a chance to show that side to you."

"McLaggen is _not_ sweet. He cares about no one but himself."

"That's where you're wrong. He cares very deeply about other people. And I'm sorry, but it's very clear to me that he cares about you too."

Rose's statement was made with such vehemence that Hermione didn't see any point in arguing any longer. She returned her attention back to the stack of parchment on top of her desk and tried to stop thinking about Cormac fucking McLaggen.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Never had Hermione been so thankful for her workday to come to an end. A small, irrational part of her feared that Monday would keep going and going. Like some twisted version of Hell, she would be stuck shuffling the stacks of parchment on her desk in perpetuity, all the while trying to avoid Rose's knowing and concerned eye.

She knew she wasn't being nice to her assistant. Pretending she wasn't even in the room was hardly the kindest nor most mature act she could do, but Hermione didn't really care. Later when she had a chance to be alone and didn't feel quite so embarrassed, she would probably feel very guilty for her childish behavior. She only hoped that Rose wouldn't be too hurt or upset. Rationality and emotional upheaval rarely co-existed peacefully. Whomever thought that Hermione Granger was _always_ a rational, logical person clearly hadn't been paying close attention. As much as she tried to remain perfectly stoic, she inevitably reverted back to the emotional wreck who used to hide all over the castle crying. It appeared that no matter how old one grew, there would always be parts about a person they could not change.

"Have a good evening, Rose. I'll see you in the morning."

Hermione rushed out of their shared office before Rose could say anything in response. After her assistant made the ludicrous statement that Cormac actually _cared_ about her, she didn't want to hear anything else from her until she had a chance to calm down. She was furious that McLaggen would dare to use the naïve, young woman as some sort of spy. Nothing anyone said would convince her that he wasn't taking advantage of Rose just to get gossip about her. He'd shown an uncomfortable amount of interest in her since the night they accidentally met on the stairs. No doubt he was hopeful that he could use whatever he learned to his benefit. Working in the Ministry could be quite cutthroat at times. It wasn't unheard of for someone to utilize the nasty business of blackmail to further their careers or their interests. There was every chance that Cormac still held some lingering anger for her since their Hogwarts days. She hadn't exactly been very kind in how she broke off their ridiculous fling. Hurt pride wasn't easily mended after all.

Leaving the Ministry of Magic proved to be much more difficult than sneaking in. Hermione had no desire to remain within the walls of her workplace for a moment longer than necessary, but coming into contact with several officials she wished she could avoid made her almost wish that she'd stayed hidden in her office until everyone was out of the building. She was halfway to one of the fireplaces lining the Atrium to make her exit when she heard her name shouted.

As tempting as it was to pretend like she hadn't heard Harry Potter's voice, she knew that the wizard was tenacious enough to follow her home if she didn't stop to speak with him. She knew that it was only going to be a matter of time before she had to start having the uncomfortable conversations with their friends and family members. Had Ron already admitted to his family what he asked of her? Or, even worse, did most of the Weasleys know he wanted a divorce before Ron even asked for one? They were a close family. It wasn't unreasonable to imagine that he'd already talked to more than just George and Angelina about his marital problems. And Harry _was_ his best friend as much as it pained her to admit so at times.

"Good, I was hoping to catch you before you went home."

She really wasn't in the mood. After almost two decades of friendship, Hermione hoped that Harry would finally begin to understand her moods. It was, of course, a foolish hope. He had never been terribly observant. Unless she was an escaped Death Eater or another Dark wizard, he didn't pay much attention to her. Once upon a time it hurt her tremendously to feel like she was always second-best in Harry's eyes to her husband but she'd had lots of practice learning not to be so affected.

"Hello, Harry. Is there something you wished to talk to me about? Because I've been in my office all day."

"I didn't want to disturb you when you were working."

"So you waited to disturb me when I was leaving for home?"

A petulant tone wasn't becoming on any person. Hermione knew that she wasn't being very kind. It seemed that everyone in her life would just have to get used to the fact that for the immediate future, she wasn't going to be a pleasant person to be around. She hated to make excuses for awful behavior, but she was still at a loss how to proceed with the rest of her life. No one was making it any easier. Harry was too used to her to be offended by her response.

"Are you all right?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

Immediately, Harry realized that he'd said something wrong. Maybe if he'd only been the first or even the second person asking her that question that day she might not have been so rude. The realization that he was likely to take Ron's side in the whole divorce debacle didn't help matters. She knew that it was only a matter of time before it became too uncomfortable to maintain a relationship with his soon-to-be ex-sister-in-law. He would be pulled to the Weasleys' side because of his wife and his best friend. She couldn't exactly blame him. When she and Ron first started officially dating, she knew that it was always going to be a risk that she could lose everyone if they didn't work out. Being rude and unpleasant to Harry at least gave Hermione the illusion that she was in control. It made little sense if she stopped to consider it logically, of course, but emotions were tricky little bastards that didn't always follow rational rules of behavior.

"I talked to Ron." He lowered his voice to make certain that no one in the close vicinity would overhear. "I know that he wants to separate."

" _Divorce_ , Harry. Not separate. My husband wants to end our marriage because he doesn't love me anymore."

"You know that's not true, Hermione. He _does_ love you."

"Yes, of course he does, but he just doesn't want to spend his life with me anymore. He doesn't want to live with me. He wants to find someone else. Someone who _isn't_ me. He made that perfectly clear."

The damned tears that she'd worked so hard at keeping from slipping out of her eyes since her incident before Rose left for lunch were back in full force. She summoned up all of her self-control to remain calm and _not_ give in. There were too many witnesses, too many eyes and ears who would love to share her misery with Rita Skeeter for a few galleons.

"Maybe if you just give him some time to calm down."

Hermione scoffed, unable to believe what she was hearing. How thick was Harry? Some of her urge to cry was replaced with a twisted desire to wring the auror's little neck. He couldn't seriously be that daft and unobservant, could he? Of course the more she thought about it, the more she realized that he absolutely could and _was_. She sighed. Battling with her best friend wasn't how she wanted to end her horrible first day back at the Ministry. All she wanted was to go home and slip into a hot bubble bath.

"You don't understand, Harry, and I don't think you ever will. Ron _is_ calm. As calm as I've ever seen him. Which tells me that he's put a lot of thought into his request. He's _never_ asked me for a divorce before and there were plenty of opportunities when neither one of us had control of our tempers."

Harry didn't know what to say in response. Just continued to stare at her like he was trying to decipher a difficult puzzle or translate from a language he wasn't terribly familiar with. Frustrated, she rolled her eyes. The Atrium was hardly the best place for them to have that conversation. If there was anyone alive who knew her husband better than she did, it would be Harry. Surely he would recognize the fact that Ron asked for a divorce when he was calm as being particularly significant.

"I'm going home, Harry. Have a good evening."

She was only a few steps away when she felt her friend tug at the sleeve of her robes. Leave it to Harry to not want to give up easily. His whole 'saving people' thing didn't just involve bodily harm any longer. Thanks to the Daily Prophet and Albus Dumbledore proclaiming him as the 'Chosen One', he made it his mission to try to fix everyone's problems. It was infuriating even if it could be somewhat endearing. He loved fiercely because of his utter lack of love during his younger years. Usually, she appreciated his concern. Spinning back around to face him, she had to take a deep breath to keep from hexing him in a place that Ginny wouldn't appreciate.

"I'm worried about you, Hermione."

"I know." She sighed once more, her anger beginning to dissipate. "And I appreciate it, Harry. I really do, but I'm sorry. This isn't something that you're going to be able to fix. I'm not sure that it _can_ be fixed."

"But maybe you can _try_."

Her anger returned. Shrugging her arm out of Harry's grip, Hermione resumed her walk towards the fireplaces to floo back to her flat. There was clearly no use talking to him. He wasn't going to get it. He called her name again and rushed after her, but thanks to a gentlemanly gesture from a surprising Theo Nott, she was able to get into the closest fireplace before he caught up. Nott was kind enough to step to the side to allow her to take his place, effectively putting his body between her and Harry. She would have to remember to thank the taciturn wizard the next time she saw him.

It would be just like Harry to follow her home through the floo. Hermione half-expected him to push poor Nott aside to come after her to continue their discussion. When at least five minutes passed and she hadn't heard the _whoosh_ of the fireplace announcing an arrival, she assumed he got the message that she was done. Or someone caught his attention before he could follow through with his annoying plan. She didn't care which it was as long as she had some peace and quiet.

The eerie feeling in the flat she felt the night before returned when she made her way to the guest bedroom to change out of her work clothes. Being alone in the flat never used to bother her. In fact, she often liked and appreciated the solitude. Ever since returning from the Scamanders' house, she noticed a change that she didn't like. Sitting alone in the flat waiting for Ron to come back just so they could continue their discussion about how to end their marriage made it all the more depressing.

Hermione's stomach grumbled when she pulled her robes off. Skipping lunch had been a terrible idea. She didn't like the idea of cooking for herself. Especially not considering she'd have to spend time in the kitchen she'd been trying to avoid. Deciding that she wasn't going to spend the evening stuck in the flat she no longer felt welcome in, she dressed quickly and rushed out the door before she could stop herself.

Monday nights at the Leaky Cauldron were hardly busy. Taking a seat at the end of the bar, Hermione placed an order with Tom the proprietor for dinner and the largest glass of fire whiskey he was willing to sell. Though she wasn't usually a big proponent of drowning her sorrows in liquor, she wasn't above making an exception that night. Maybe if she had enough in her system, she would be able to fall asleep easier. The night before had been difficult and an experience that she didn't much care to repeat.

Perhaps there was something about her that gave off the air that she didn't want to be bothered. For one of the few times she was out in public, the others in the pub gave her a wide berth. Not that she was complaining. Far from it. She wasn't good company. It only became annoying when she finished her glass of fire whiskey and couldn't seem to get Tom's attention for a refill. Was he passively-aggressively letting her know that he thought she'd had enough to drink? Because she was a paying customer and if she wanted to get completely pissed, that was _her_ business, not his. She already had a father who didn't think very much of her choices. She didn't need another one.

"You know, when I suggested we accidentally meet at the Leaky Cauldron this morning, I didn't realize you'd want to tonight."

Hermione closed her eyes and didn't even bother to hide her groan of annoyance. Wizarding society might have been small, but was it truly _that_ small? Cormac McLaggan sat on the barstool next to hers, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she didn't want to spend another second in his presence. Especially not if Tom was refusing to give her more alcohol.

"Oi, Tom! Think the lady would like another one."

At Cormac's suggestion, Tom stared right at Hermione almost as if he was seeing her for the first time. Evidently confused, he blinked his eyes a few times before walking towards the end of the bar with a bottle in his hand. Hermione worried that the wizard was getting a bit old to be working. Or maybe he was allowing pride and vanity to get in the way of his need for glasses. But, she _was_ sitting in the shadowy part of the pub. Her frustration from earlier melted away when he refilled her glass.

"Truly sorry, Mrs. Weasley. I thought you'd already left. I didn't see you there."

Hermione offered him a tight smile even as the mention of her married name made her stomach hurt. Would the reminders ever get easier to deal with?

"I thought you kept your last name when you married."

Cormac's voice broke her out of her thoughts that threatened to grow increasingly darker. She didn't even mind he was asking a question. Part of her was even relieved she could focus on something else.

"I hyphenated. Granger-Weasley. I don't know why. Maybe it was silly."

"No, not at all. There's absolutely nothing wrong with keeping a part of your own identity from before your marriage."

"Well, maybe if I hadn't been _so_ focused on staying who I was, I wouldn't…"

Embarrassed that she almost allowed herself to say too much, Hermione sipped at her glass. She could feel her cheeks blushing a deep red. Cormac's continued gaze at her face didn't help.

"You wouldn't be getting a divorce?"

Fire whiskey almost went up Hermione's nose as she sputtered. How did he know that? She had been very careful with the people she told that to because she wasn't ready for the entire world to know. A sinking in her stomach at the thought of one of her confidants' betrayal was almost painful in its intensity. There was one suspect more likely than all the others, one who'd only hours before laughed with Cormac behind her back and spent an entire hour alone with him.

"I assume Rose told you when you two had lunch? Must've been very amusing to discuss my misfortunes. Bet you both got a good laugh at my expense."

Her tone was cold, but even a complete stranger would've recognized the pain in it. She'd trusted Rose and betrayal was never easy. Cormac gently grasped her bare ring finger between two of his. He lowered his voice to a soft whisper so no one else in the world could hear.

"I noticed your ring was missing the morning after the stairwell incident. It didn't take much to deduct what was happening."

She felt the warmth of unshed tears in her eyes as he removed his fingers. Cormac placed his entire hand over hers and lightly squeezed it in a clear show of compassion. The touch only lasted a moment before he released her hand to reach for his own glass, but his intention was easy to understand.

"Rosie would never tell a secret that wasn't hers. She's probably the best example of a Hufflepuff there is. Just like you and I are undoubtedly Gryffindors, all arrogant and stupid in our courageousness."

The corner of Hermione's mouth threatened to curl up into a smile. She was glad to hear she was wrong about Rose.

"Now don't get me wrong. I _tried_ to get the gossip out of sweet Rosie, but she wouldn't budge. She told me _nothing_ sadly to confirm my suspicions. She did use some delightfully foul language I didn't even know she knew when I kept pressing, but no, she didn't tell me anything."

"You shouldn't have asked her anything. Why do you even care?"

He shrugged his shoulders in a gesture that was _not_ very Gryffindorish. She wondered for the briefest of moments if he was actually nervous to admit his true reasons for his curiosity. They weren't friends. They'd never been friends. Just because they'd kissed several times in her sixth year didn't change that. Nor did the night he pressed her up against the statue of the One-Eyed witch with one hand up her jumper and the other halfway inside her knickers before Peeves interrupted them to sing a song as loudly as he could with lyrics so dirty she still blushed when she thought of them.

"The night in the stairwell… if you'll believe it, I've actually been a bit worried about you ever since."

There was sincerity in his voice that Hermione couldn't ignore. She didn't know why it made her suddenly uncomfortable and on the defensive.

"So I suppose now that you've figured out I'm getting divorced that you're going to tell me that I deserve it? That it's to be expected?"

She knew her sharp, uncaring tone caught the wizard off-guard the moment the words fell out of her mouth. Cormac's eyes widened and for likely one of the first times in his entire life, he was at a loss for words. Her own insecurities on display whether she meant it or not, she found it hard to stop.

"Maybe you think I should be grateful that my marriage lasted so long. I mean, eight years is an awfully long time for two people who have _nothing_ in common to stay married. It's what I get, right?"

Angry tears rolled down her cheeks. Old insecurities were hard to combat. Several people had expressed their confusion for her marriage over the years. It was frustrating to say the least. How was it any of their business? She _loved_ Ron. She would _always_ love Ron.

"I would never presume to pass judgements on _anyone's_ marriage," Cormac stated as he handed her a clean handkerchief from his pocket. Reluctantly, she accepted the kind gesture to wipe the hated tears off her face. "We love who we love whether it makes a lot of sense or not. And as far as you having _nothing_ in common in with your husband, that's ridiculous. I don't even know either of you very well, but even I know that's not true."

Hermione's ears perked up a little at his statement. Was he sincere or just trying to keep her from crying? Curious to discover what he would say, she stared him in the eye, silently urging him to continue.

"You are both loyal to a fault. _Extremely_ loyal. Perhaps even blindly and foolishly loyal. Potter's a nice bloke and all, but there was a reason why I never tried to be his friend. Too dangerous. You and Weasley were at his side every step of the way. So clearly when either of you love, you love fiercely and deeply. It's no wonder this is so painful for you."

She couldn't argue with him. Not about their loyalty to Harry. That was only a small part of their relationship. After the war, when she'd gone back to Hogwarts to finish her final year and Ron joined the Auror Office, there had been some concern that they wouldn't be able to make it through the separation. It didn't take any time at all before she started to miss Ron and he missed her too. They'd been such an integral part of the other's lives since they were both eleven that neither of them really knew how to exist day-to-day alone. There had been countless sweet owls exchanged back and forth that year. Each Hogsmeade Saturday he'd faithfully switched shifts with other aurors in the department to make certain he could spend at least an hour or two with Hermione. Those were some of the best days of her life. Neither of them really understood what it meant to be carefree.

"Some people think that in order for two people to be happy, they have to be exactly the same. They'll think that because you were a swotty bookworm obsessed with freeing the house-elves that you would _only_ be happy with another swotty bookworm. That sounds boring to me. I don't want to marry another version of myself. We find those who are complementary to us, not _exactly_ the same. I'm sure that if we wrote out a list of all that you had in common with Weasley, you'd be surprised, but that's not what really matters. It's in our differences that we find our strengths."

Even Hermione couldn't deny that the wizard spoke with a lot of wisdom. His own life experience had given him a unique perspective. It _was_ wrong to judge another person's marriage from the outside. No one really knew what went on behind closed doors or why two people who might on the surface seem to be mismatched worked very well together. Something, however, continued to bother her. Feeling like she could be open with the wizard for a reason she didn't understand, she chose to give voice to her concern.

"If two people were stronger together when they were different, why did Ron and I not work?"

Maybe it didn't make any sense to ask the opinion of a man she hardly knew and didn't much like, but Hermione felt desperate. She wasn't sure who else she could talk to. Divorce wasn't as common in the wizarding world as it was in the Muggle. She only knew of a small handful of people who had gone through one before and none of them were particularly close to her. While she'd appreciated Xenophilius Lovegood's insights when she was staying with the Scamanders, they weren't exactly close friends. She felt awkward talking to Luna's father considering they never really had before her visit. Even though she didn't like to listen to gossip, Hermione heard about Cormac's divorce over a year earlier in the section of the Daily Prophet she rarely read. It had been quite the scandal in his ex-wife's native Spain. She didn't remember all of the details, but she'd caught Rose voraciously reading every article she could find. What her assistant's seeming obsession with the wizard was Hermione didn't want to know.

She decided she could always blame her need to ask him questions on the alcohol she drank. Unused to drinking large amounts of the potent liquor, she could already feel its effects. With the exception of the food she mostly pushed around on her plate before Cormac sat down, she hadn't had a proper meal since she left Luna's. Even when she didn't want to eat, her friend made certain that her plate was full. Luna and Rolf were both wonderful caretakers. They never allowed a guest to go hungry, even when the guest didn't have much of an appetite to begin with.

"Every single day we make hundreds of decisions, Hermione. Maybe even thousands. Most of them are quite small, but they add up." Cormac took a deep drink from his glass. She didn't know why she was so interested in what he had to say. Perhaps she was more intoxicated than she realized. Those _had_ been rather large glasses and she didn't shoo away Tom when he refilled her glass a second time. "What we decide isn't usually a big deal when we're alone, but when we've made the commitment to share our lives with someone else, every decision we make affects them too."

"So at some point Ron or I made the wrong decision and that's why we failed?"

"You likely made many decisions that set you on different paths. It happens. Doesn't mean you don't love each other. Doesn't mean you _deserve_ to get divorced. It just means that your path diverged from Weasley's and neither of you chose to correct it. Now it's too late."

It made a strange sort of sense. There were plenty of moments in their marriage where they'd each consciously made the choice to move further away from each other. She knew she'd been a disappointment to him as a wife. Though he never came right out and said so, she knew that Ron wished their life had been different. If it was up to him, they would've already had at least two or three children. She'd wanted that too, but it seemed as if fate had different ideas. Never once did Ron ever say or even imply that she was somehow broken. He'd been sensitive enough to know that she struggled with what she deemed her failure. He had always been very careful with what he said to her when the topic of children was breached and he'd more than a few times been quite firm with well-meaning and nosy family members and strangers alike asking when they were going to _finally_ settle down and have children. Maybe she made the choice without realizing it to move away from him because she believed that he deserved better than her.

Hermione didn't like the line of thinking her brain was hurtling down. It would lead nowhere but tears and more self-flagellating torture. Deciding to try to move their conversation away towards another direction, she swallowed the rest of the fire whiskey in her third glass in one big gulp. Cormac's soft chuckle proved he was amused by her motion. She had never exactly been known as a heavy drinker before.

"You said you were worried about me the night in the stairwell. Was that true?"

"Every word. Even before I guessed the next day what was happening, I knew it was bad. Why else would you show up at the Ministry in the middle of the night wearing a dressing gown over your pajamas?"

She was still embarrassed to think about the moment they met on the stairs. Likely she always would be. When she made her way to the Ministry, she never expected to run into anyone there that time of night. In an effort to deflect from her own mortification, she attempted to deflect the conversation from _her_ actions that night.

"Why were you even there that night? You don't strike me as the sort of person to work that late."

Cormac laughed, his own cheeks flushing the slightest pink. It was easy in that moment to remember why so many women found him so attractive. Immediately, Hermione chastised herself for thinking so.

"Let's just say that I couldn't sleep that night and I thought I could utilize the time better finishing unpacking my new office."

"That's hardly an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting tonight. I'm going to need _a lot_ more alcohol to tell you that secret."

She could recognize a man who wasn't going to tell her what she wanted to hear, so she didn't press him any further. Weren't they all entitled to their own secrets? A commotion just a few barstools down caught their attention before she could even think about asking him again. Horrified to see the nasty Rita Skeeter just a short distance away, Hermione attempted to hide in the shadows. Maybe if she didn't draw any attention to herself, the horrible woman would go away. She didn't have the energy to deal with the reporter. Rita would ask impertinent questions or write an article in the next morning's _Daily Prophet_ about Hermione enjoying an intimate conversation with a wizard who was not her husband. Hermione knew how inappropriate they must look.

"Well, this is certainly a wonderful surprise. Good evening, Cormac."

"Good evening, Rita."

"What is a handsome wizard like yourself doing alone at the bar? Shouldn't you be surrounded by beautiful witches?"

Part of Hermione was a little insulted that the horrible woman didn't even seem to notice her presence as she shamelessly flirted with a man young enough to be her son, but mostly she was grateful. Cormac offered the reporter a tight smile, assuring her that he was enjoying his evening just fine. Perhaps sensing there was no story to be had after exchanging just a few words, Rita crossed the pub to a table in the back where another potential victim waited.

"I hope she doesn't write something nasty in the paper tomorrow about seeing us here."

"She won't. She didn't even see you."

Cormac seemed quite confident in his statement. Another one of his blasted cocky smirks crossed his lips. Hermione fought the urge to hex it. How could he be so sure? She was still a married woman enjoying drinks with a man who was _not_ her husband.

"How can you be so sure?"

The smirk slipped. If it was possible, Cormac seemed a bit nervous.

"Because when I walked in and saw you sitting at the bar, I cast a Notice-Me-Not spell on you."

It was considered the height of poor manners to cast magic on a person without their permission or knowledge. Hermione didn't even know what to say to such a revelation. Should she be angry? She thought she should, but didn't he just save her from the dreadful experience of having to steer Rita away from a potential scandal?

"Why would you do that?"

"You seemed like you needed some time alone. I didn't want anyone to bother you."

"If you thought I needed to be alone, why did you come over here then?"

"Because you couldn't get Tom's attention to refill your drink and I didn't want there to be an _incident_ when you finally lost your temper. And then once I was here, I liked talking to you. Didn't want to go away."

She appreciated the gesture. He wasn't wrong about her wanting to be by herself. If someone had come up to her to ask why she was alone in a pub instead of at home with her husband, she wasn't sure if she would've burst into tears or hexed them to bits. His meddling might have even saved her from an inconvenient stint in Azkaban. Fixing him with a stern glare, she made it clear that if he ever tried that again, she wouldn't be so forgiving. The tension between them broke when he offered his solemn promise to keep his wand to himself.

"So mind if I ask an impertinent question?"

"As if that's ever stopped you before, McLaggen?"

His smile made her smile to her annoyance. It was _definitely_ the alcohol's fault. She knew it wasn't wise to drink so much, especially when she had work the next morning, but Hermione couldn't find it in her to care.

"It's been my unfortunate experience to discover that most marriages end because one or both of them cheat. Which one of you was it?"

Impertinent or not, it truly wasn't an unreasonable question. That had been Hermione's experience too. Most of the relationships she knew that ended in a spectacular fashion did so because of infidelity. Maybe it was because she still felt such residual guilt from her almost-affair with Viktor, but she didn't appreciate the question whatsoever. She felt her heart-rate increase and her face darken to a deep red.

"Just because _you_ have trouble keeping your trousers on, McLaggen, doesn't mean that my husband does too. Ron has _never_ cheated on me."

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I truly meant no offense. Just my own morbid curiosity."

Though he might have smiled, she could tell that it wasn't the same happy smile it had been only moments before. It was tight and lacked the usual warmth and arrogance he possessed. If her own pride hadn't still been hurt, she might have bothered to ask him if she'd said something she shouldn't. Instead, she kept drinking.

"You're going to splinch yourself trying to get home if you keep drinking."

"Not sure I want to even go home."

"Why?"

She sighed, unsure if she had the energy to continue the conversation. Her entire body was exhausted. The fire whiskey only made it worse. No matter how comfortable the bed was that she slept in the night before, her restless sleep hadn't been enough. She tried and failed to stifle a yawn.

"Doesn't feel like home anymore. I don't want to be in it."

"Sounds like you need to move out. Start somewhere fresh."

"You make it sound so easy."

"Oh, it's not easy. Nothing about what you're going through is easy. Anyone who claims otherwise has never been through a divorce. Trust me."

When she pulled her bag out of her pocket to pay for her meal and drinks, Cormac gently placed a hand on it to push it away. She wasn't expecting him to pay, but the tenacious wizard wouldn't accept no for an answer. He waved the proprietor over to them and lowered his voice just in case anyone else was listening.

"The lady is going to need a room here tonight. Somewhere private where no one will see her. It's a _sensitive_ situation."

The nod of Tom's head and the kind smile he gave Hermione proved that he wasn't a stranger to such requests. He walked away and returned a few minutes later with a key he discreetly pushed across the top of the bar.

"Take your time in the morning, lass. No rush to check out."

"Thank you."

Her words stuck in her throat. Fearing that she was about to burst into another embarrassing round of tears because of their kindness, she cleared her throat and rose from her barstool. Cormac winked.

"Have a good night, Hermione. I'm sure I'll _accidentally_ run into you at the Ministry tomorrow."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Entirely on accident, Hermione took Tom's statement about not needing to rush in the morning to heart. Once she entered the quiet room the night before, she made certain to take advantage of the deep bathtub in the connected bathroom. It wasn't even nine when she slipped under the covers, grateful that she usually kept at least one change of clothes and a pair of pajamas in her beaded bag. Since the war ended, she never went anywhere without the bag that saved her life and the lives of her two best friends countless times during their horcrux hunt. Maybe it was silly to hold on to that part of her life in any way, but she couldn't deny that having her bag helped countless times in the past.

If she bothered to notice the clock on the table next to the surprisingly comfortable bed, she would've realized that she'd been able to sleep for at least twelve straight hours. Barring the short breaks she took half-asleep into the loo during the night, of course. Not since the first night she slept in Luna's attic bedroom had she been able to sleep so long. It was just what her body needed. Deciding not to worry about the time or that she was already running late for the office, Hermione lingered a long time under the hot spray of water in the shower. There weren't any crises in her subdivision that couldn't be put off a little longer. As much as it might have annoyed her, Cormac hadn't been wrong the day before when he said their work could keep for an hour. It could keep a lot longer than that.

When she was finished in the shower, Hermione took extra care with her appearance. If she showed up uncharacteristically late _and_ looked haggard and gross, she wouldn't be able to keep the gossip at bay. A tiny voice in the back of her mind tried to convince her that the real reason she wanted to look well put together was because of the wizard she'd spent a shockingly pleasant evening with and who already promised he would make an effort to see her again that morning. No, that was completely ridiculous. If she was thinking about him at all, it was because she wanted him to see that she wasn't as pathetic as she'd been the night before when she had too much to drink. Yes, that's all it was. That's all it _could_ be. Her opinion on Cormac McLaggen had _not_ changed.

Tom greeted her with a warm smile when she made her way back to the ground floor. Few of the Leaky Cauldron's temporary residents or early morning patrons remained in the main room. Likely most of them had already gone to their own jobs or whatever tasks they had reason to be in London for. She placed the key to her room on top of the bar.

"How much do I owe you for the room last night?"

"Not a single bronze knut. Mr. McLaggen settled the bill last night before he left."

The wizard pushed the key back across the bar.

"And he insisted you have the room a second night as well. Just in case you had need for it."

"Then I _must_ insist you let me pay my own bill."

"I'm afraid I can't do that. I'm under strict orders from Mr. McLaggen. He said that if I even _thought_ of letting you pay, he would never come back. Can't afford to lose myself such a generous, frequent guest, can I?"

His cheeky wink coupled with another warm smile made it impossible for Hermione to be upset with the wizard. Oh, she would certainly give Cormac an earful about refusing to let her pay for her own room and she would _make_ him take her money as repayment. Somehow letting the man pay for her hotel room felt extremely inappropriate. She was still a married woman even if her marriage had fallen apart. The rest of the world didn't know that. What Tom must've thought about her was anyone's guess.

"Keep the key. If you find you don't need to stay another night, just owl it back. I'll make certain Mr. McLaggen gets a refund."

"Thank you, Tom."

With the weight of the small key a reminder in her pocket of Cormac's strange generosity, Hermione wished the proprietor of the Leaky Cauldron a pleasant day as she made her way to the door leading to Diagon Alley. She didn't know what the wizard wanted from her in exchange for what on the surface seemed like kindness. Experience taught her that there were very few people who acted simply out of the goodness of their own hearts. There was usually some kind of agenda. She would have to be very careful until she learned more about Cormac's motivations. The man was still practically a stranger. They hadn't seen each other in years before the night of the stairwell. Even before then, they weren't friends.

She stared at the bricks that led to the entrance of the wizarding shopping district. Based on the time, she knew that Ron was likely already inside the joke shop he ran with his older brother. It would be opening for business any minute. Part of her wanted to walk down the Alley to speak to her husband, to find out if he was even worried about the fact that she never went home. Mostly though, she was afraid that she would find out he hadn't been worried about her at all. Somehow that seemed more upsetting than imagining that he had a mistress.

It didn't take her long to make the choice not to even entertain a trip to the shop. There was too much potential for heartache and fireworks that had little to do with the impressive inventory they kept on hand. As much as she knew that she needed to talk to her husband again, there was a time and a place for such heart-wrenching encounters. Neither of their workplaces were suitable. Besides, she knew that if she was much later getting to the office, Kenneth Towler would contact the auror department and send out a search team. Rose would be right there next to him encouraging such a drastic move. Taking one last look at the bricks, Hermione thought about the Ministry and spun in place.

Most of the other Ministry officials were already in their individual offices when she stepped into the Atrium. Though still quite busy with normal activity, it was easy to tell that the morning crush to get inside the building had come and gone. Even the canteen was mostly empty. Not that Hermione minded a bit. She was able to purchase a large cup of tea without running into anyone she would rather avoid. Only one other person shared the lift. No one, in fact, bothered her at all until she stepped out of the lift onto her level.

" _Hermione_ , there you are. We were beginning to get worried about you."

She had to bite back a small smile at Kenneth's impassioned greeting. Indeed he did seem a little stressed. A wizard who enjoyed his routines, no doubt he had been at his wit's end to figure out why one of his subordinates wasn't in her office, especially when that subordinate was one that was in the office before he was ninety-nine times out of a hundred. He met her just steps out of the lift, looking harried and upset.

"Miss Zeller wasn't sure where you were either. I think she was just about to send an owl to your husband."

"That's completely unnecessary. I just overslept."

"Oh, I see. Well, that does happen sometimes. I hope everything is all right?"

At some point Hermione knew that she would have to tell her boss what was happening in her private life. He had never been anything but kind and supportive of her in the years that they worked together in the Ministry. Even when they were Gryffindor prefects together he'd been the same. Eventually news of her impending divorce would get out. She respected Kenneth enough to want to tell him before it became public knowledge. But, she wasn't ready to announce it to anyone else yet, especially since she and Ron had yet to iron out all of the details.

"Yes, thank you, Kenneth. Everything is perfectly all right. Just one of _those_ mornings, you understand."

"Of course. Well, hopefully Miss Zeller hasn't sent off that owl to Ron and worried him unnecessarily."

Though she didn't say so out loud, Hermione got the impression that Rose was just humoring Kenneth when she offered to send an owl to Ron. She knew bits and pieces of what was happening. With a tight smile and an apology for her tardiness, she made her excuses to leave for her office.

Just as she suspected, Rose was seated at her desk scribbling away on one of the endless forms they filled out each day. There was no sign of an owl. When she stepped inside, Rose looked up to smile warmly. Evidently, she hadn't been as worried about her as Kenneth.

"Good morning, Rose. I'm sorry I'm late."

"Good morning, Hermione."

She didn't make mention of Kenneth's concerns that she was late nor did she ask if she was all right for which Hermione was thankful. If one more person asked her that question, she was concerned that she might lose her patience and be exceptionally rude to them. Rose did, however, gesture silently to Hermione's side of their shared desk with her head.

A small glass vial rested on top of a stack of parchment that she hadn't finished sorted the day before. Curious to know what it was, she didn't even hesitate to pick it up. Of course being so blasé about one's safety in the wizarding world could be a detriment to their continued well-being, but she was fortunate enough that Rose was trustworthy. Nothing happened when she held it in her hand. The moment she saw the label marked 'Hangover Potion' and the tiny note tied to the top, she couldn't help but roll her eyes and smile.

 _Just in case. -C_

It made her chuckle softly to herself, not even caring that she wasn't alone. She didn't feel terrible, but it had been a long time since she drank so much. Uncorking the vial, she swallowed the contents in one gulp. It certainly wouldn't hurt to clear up any of the lingering effects of overindulgence. When she looked up, she was surprised to see Rose watching her with a smile on her lips. Did Cormac tell her what happened when he dropped the vial off at her desk? Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Hermione cleared her throat.

"McLaggen saw me last night at the Leaky Cauldron. I _may_ have had a bit too much to drink."

"That was thoughtful of him to bring that by then."

"Yes, it was."

Embarrassed that she'd said too much to her assistant, Hermione dropped the empty vial in the bin. She pulled her chair out to begin the business of ensuring all of the freed house-elves were content with their lot following their freedom. It had been a hard-fought war. She _refused_ to believe that it had all been a giant waste of time. Just because the house-elves weren't always very receptive to change didn't mean she should've focused on some other project. Several long minutes passed of nothing but the sound of scratching quills and rustling parchment.

"Did you spend the night at the Leaky?"

Rose's innocent question caught Hermione off-guard. It wasn't unreasonable to ask. Just a bit odd. What did it matter to the other witch where she'd spent the night? She set her quill down to focus her full attention on Rose.

"Yes, I did. Didn't want to splinch myself on the way home."

"Have you thought much about where you're going to be living? Will you be staying in your flat or will you be moving out?"

It wasn't like Rose to ask a lot of personal questions. At least not completely out of the blue and unprompted. She had always been intensely private about her own life and had been careful to show the same amount of respect to others. Her sudden curiosity surprised Hermione. She needed a moment to consider her answer.

"I'll be honest. I haven't really considered where I will be living. Ron and I haven't really discussed what's going to happen next."

"Oh, I see." Rose seemed to lose her nerve, but an unexpected burst of confidence shone through to press her forward. Hermione didn't have the first clue what the young woman was up to, only that it amused her greatly. "I imagine that it would be much easier to actually move on if you moved _out_. Fewer memories and all."

"Yes, I think you're probably right."

Truthfully, if Hermione really considered it, there was no other option than to move out. She'd thought about it several times since Cormac mentioned it the night before. There were too many memories associated with the home she shared with Ron. She knew that every time she crossed the threshold of her flat she would be inundated with those memories. Eventually, it would get easier she was certain, but did she really want to stay long enough for that to happen? Already it no longer felt like home. Ron always liked the flat better than she did. If it had been up to her, they would've found a house in a sleepy, quiet village like Hogsmeade or even an old farmhouse in the middle of the countryside. Ron had had enough of that life growing up at the Burrow. He much preferred being in the heart of the city.

One major hurdle awaited her when it came to moving out: money. She didn't have much of it. Thanks to Ron working as partner in his brother's extremely successful shop, she'd never had to worry about money once she got married. He allowed her the freedom to work in her embarrassingly low-paying job because his income more than paid for their lifestyle. So focused had she been on freeing the house-elves that she never actually considered the fact that her wages weren't very high. She would rather live in a mud hut in the middle of the Forbidden Forest than ask her parents for money they likely wouldn't give her anyway. Some grudges ran deep and were never-ending.

"My cousin just purchased a rather lovely home in Somerset. It's old and needs quite a bit of work, but it's in a beautiful, quiet location."

Hermione looked up from her parchment to stare into Rose's face. What was the woman up to? Could she read minds? While she'd never made any hint that she'd ever studied Legilimency, Hermione had to admit that there was a lot about her assistant that she still didn't know even after years of working together. Was Rose able to tell that she would've loved to move somewhere much quieter? Or had she mentioned it to her before without realizing?

"I'm sure it is lovely…"

"My cousin travels a lot for work and I'm certain would feel better about leaving if the house wasn't always empty."

She could feel her brow furrowing in confusion. Was Rose about to suggest she move in with a complete stranger? There really was no other explanation. Rose was hardly the type to just make random remarks that made little sense.

"Rent can be so terribly expensive. Perhaps my cousin would be interested in letting out a room and bath to you in exchange for keeping the house from being empty so often."

"I could hardly ask a stranger to let me live in their house for nothing."

"Oh no, of course not, but I'm sure whatever my cousin asked for in rent would be fair."

Hermione hoped that once she was married she would never have to worry about another flatmate ever again. Her luck at Hogwarts hadn't been very good after all. Though she was mostly _friendly_ with the girls in her dormitory, they'd never exactly been friends. Once out of Hogwarts, she lived in Harry's house at Number Twelve until she was married and it became impractical to stay any longer. The first four years of her marriage were spent in a tiny, awful flat that she loved. So many wonderful memories she would always cherish were made between those walls. When they decided it was time to try for a family, they found the larger flat closer to Diagon Alley. There had been a number of hopes and dreams made in that home that sadly never came to fruition. It was somewhat disheartening to know she was going to have to start all over again.

"And I hate to be impertinent and it's certainly none of my business…"

Hermione couldn't keep the smile off her face at Rose's uncharacteristic behavior. Usually one to remain quiet and mind her own business, it was strange to see her act so boldly.

"…but I imagine that as much as your position in the Ministry provides you with personal satisfaction, we both are aware that the budget in this subdivision is deplorably low."

"Yes, it is."

"I've been fortunate because of the vault my mother left me when she died, but I'm concerned about what horrible flat you might be forced to let if you had to move out on your own."

She had a point… a very _uncomfortable_ point. Even if Hermione wanted to argue, she knew she couldn't. Even splitting their shared vault right down the middle wouldn't give her enough money in the long-run to live somewhere very nice. Not on her own. And though she didn't know the particulars about maintenance orders in the wizarding world, she had too much pride to ask her soon-to-be ex-husband to continue to support her financially. It didn't even matter that _he_ was the one to ask for the dissolution. If they were to end their relationship, she wanted a clean break free from complicated entanglements and legal ties. It was humiliating enough to have to get a divorce in the first place. Did they have to make the horrible experience even worse by prolonging a nasty court battle? Her feelings would've been different if children were involved, of course, but without them, she didn't need or want anything from Ron.

"I'm certain my cousin will be agreeable to the arrangement. It doesn't have to be forever, you know. Just long enough for you to get back on your feet."

"That's very generous, Rose, but…"

"Nonsense. I will talk to my cousin about it this evening. I'm certain you will love the house."

It was evident that nothing Hermione could say or do would dissuade Rose from her plan. Honestly, Hermione rather liked the idea and it meant so much to her that Rose was that concerned about her well-being. What was the worst that could happen? She wouldn't get along with Rose's cousin and she would have to find somewhere else to stay? She would be no worse off than she already was. Besides, her assistant came from a well-respected family with an excellent reputation. Hermione didn't anticipate there being any problems.

"All right. Talk to your cousin. It does sound lovely. I've never lived outside the city before, except at school."

One of the brightest smiles Hermione had ever seen crossed Rose's face. While she was always a pretty, young woman, her happiness only improved the effect. Both women resumed their work in near-silence, interrupted only occasionally by requests for the other to hand them something or if one of them needed clarification. It was just like every other single day that passed in their subdivision.

Such a work environment gave its occupants plenty of opportunity to think. A tiny voice in the back of Hermione's mind tried to warn her to be suspicious of any sort of help. _Why_ was Rose so adamant that she consider moving into her cousin's home? Was there something more to Rose's request? Perhaps her family member had fallen on hard times and this would help them just as much as it would help Hermione? She knew that the Zellers were proud. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to help them out without making it _seem_ like they needed it. She could understand Rose's passion and insistence if Hermione's help with the rent might save her cousin from some unbearable financial hardship.

Lunch came and went with neither witch leaving the space. Thanks to Tom, Hermione was still sated from her rather large breakfast that appeared just outside her door that morning to even think about another meal. Rose often brought her own lunch from home and nibbled at a sandwich at her desk. Rarely did either woman ever have the time to abandon their work even for just a half hour.

As the day wore on and it was nearing time for the workday to end, a sharp knock on the open door of their office startled both women. Hermione laughed when she looked up to see an embarrassed Theo Nott. Surprised to see him, she tried to assure him with a warm smile that he wasn't bothering them.

"I didn't mean to startle you. My apologies."

"Nothing to worry about, Nott. Is there something that we can help you with?"

His eyes cut to Rose for a half-second before he turned his full attention back to Hermione. She couldn't help but notice the slight flush to her assistant's cheeks at the attention. Had Rose finally met a wizard that struck her fancy? Though his position as her father's direct subordinate might make any potential relationship a bit awkward at first, she could feel the wheels in her mind turning thinking up ways she could push the two together. As far as Hermione was aware, Nott didn't have anyone special in his life. Very few witches were interested in associating with someone whose father was locked up in Azkaban for being a Death Eater.

"I wonder if I could borrow Miss Zeller for a few moments alone? Her father asked me to relay a message to her."

Sensing her first opportunity to give the two a chance to be alone in a tiny, enclosed space, Hermione jumped up to her feet. It was almost time to leave for the day as it was and she certainly could use a break. Besides, she owed him one after he allowed her to escape from Harry the day before. Banishing her forms into neat piles, she started for the door.

"Of course, Nott. Come right in. I was just about to go home."

"You don't have to leave on my account. It won't take long."

"Nonsense. Take all the time you need. Have a good evening, Rose. I'll see you in the morning."

Rose muttered a goodbye to her boss as she rushed out of the office. It was tempting to stick around and eavesdrop, but Hermione knew that was wrong. She didn't like how she felt after she did it when Cormac was in the office the day before.

Only a few steps away from the lift, a familiar figure stepped in front of Hermione to push the button. She might have been annoyed to keep running into McLaggen, but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was the cause of her shift in mood. Perhaps if she wasn't feeling buoyed by her feeble attempt at matchmaking and the fact that she might have figured out how to solve her homelessness issue temporarily, she might've given in to her sour mood. When they stepped into the lift alone, she started to regret her hasty decision to leave her office.

"Thank you for the potion this morning."

Cormac's only response to her first statement was a broad smile. Clearly he wasn't in a rush to ask her a bunch of impertinent questions. He made her uncomfortable, nervous even. She didn't like that they were stuck in such a small space alone. It would've been better if _anyone_ was in there with them. She might've even felt more at ease with Lord Voldemort himself standing between them.

"You shouldn't have threatened Tom if I tried to pay my own bill."

"I had to. You would've left me with no choice. I might not know you very well, Hermione, but I know you well enough to know that you wouldn't accept kindness so easily."

"Is that all it was? _Kindness_?"

She was suspicious that he had more nefarious reasons for ensuring she had two nights in the Leaky Cauldron. Experience and common sense taught her that rarely did people offer just kindness without expectations. Cormac's smile disappeared to be replaced with a very serious expression.

"If you're worried that I'm going to show up tonight at the door to your room at the Leaky and _demand_ something from you in exchange for what I did, you shouldn't be. I meant what I said. It was nothing more than just kindness."

There was something in his tone that made her realize he was completely serious. Part of her felt embarrassed that she would all but accuse him of being underhanded and dirty. Gryffindors had a lot of pride that was easily ruffled. She should've remembered that as a Gryffindor herself.

"Thank you. I would like to pay you back."

"There's no need. I won't accept your money."

Gryffindors could also be stupidly noble and obnoxiously stubborn. Not only were those traits she often saw in her husband, Hermione was guilty of them herself. Cormac smiled again, immediately putting her at ease that he wasn't angry with her.

"If you need more time there than just tonight, Tom will give you a fair rate."

"Oh, well, I hope that I won't be needing to stay there much longer."

"You and Ginger working it out?"

The narrowing of his eyes and the sudden tension in the lift almost made Hermione laugh. Maybe it was just to keep herself from crying at the depressing fact that there would be no reconciliation. She knew that without question. If Ron had screamed at her and blurted out he wanted a divorce, she might've been able to convince herself that he just said it in a moment of passion. The fact that he was so calm and deliberate when he stated his wishes proved that he wouldn't change his mind.

"No, but I think I may have found somewhere to move."

"Not some tiny flat in some dodgy part of the city, is it?"

She felt insulted that he would make the suggestion that she couldn't afford anything better than that. Or maybe she didn't want to admit to herself that he was right.

" _No_. Actually, Rose's cousin just bought a new house and she says there's plenty of room. I think that her cousin might be in some sort of financial trouble and could use the additional money."

"Oh, is that right?"

The corner of Cormac's mouth lifted into an amused smirk. Hermione wished she hadn't said anything, but it was too late to pull the words back in.

"Yes. I think it sounds wonderful."

"Well, in that case, I hope it all works out for you, Hermione."

"I'm sure it will."

His soft chuckle made her feel suddenly self-conscious. Why did the wizard have such an effect on her? She didn't understand the first thing about him. When the lift opened onto the Atrium, Hermione turned to Cormac.

"Will I _accidentally_ see you at the Leaky Cauldron this evening?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Tempting, of course, but I've got to catch an international portkey to Lisbon this evening. Won't be back until late tomorrow afternoon."

She hated that there was the tiniest sliver of disappointment in her mind when she heard his response. It was silly to hope that she would see him at the Leaky Cauldron. Not when she already had so much in her life that was complicated and confusing. She knew she had to have a very uncomfortable conversation with Ron at some point.

"Well, have a lovely trip."

Before he could say anything in response, Hermione rushed out of the lift towards the fireplaces. Grateful that no one accosted her on the way as Harry had done the day before, she called out the address to her flat. She couldn't keep avoiding the place forever. At some point she would have to speak to her husband again.

Almost as if he was reading her mind, Ron sat on their comfortable sofa watching the fireplace. When the spinning stopped, Hermione stepped out onto the living rug and met her husband's wide eyes. He looked exhausted, like he hadn't slept in days. Had he been worried when she didn't come home the night before?

"Hello, Ron."

"Hi."

She stepped closer to the sofa, but stopped before she got very far away from the fireplace. There'd been a time in their marriage when she would've rushed straight into his arms and their heated kisses would've quickly turned to much more. It was hard to remember that they once had been unable to keep their hands and their lips off of each other.

"I wasn't sure if you would come home tonight."

"I still live here, Ron."

"No, of course you do, but last night…"

"I stayed at the Leaky Cauldron. I'm sorry I didn't send an owl."

Ron waved his hand as if saying that he didn't need an explanation. He seemed oddly calm about their discussion already. She sort of expected him to start yelling and demanding to know where she'd been the night before. It hurt just a little to know that he didn't seem to care.

"It's all right. I assumed something like that."

Tears blurred her vision. How was it possible that they couldn't even seem to find the words to carry on a proper conversation? She knew that they needed to talk about all of the particulars of their divorce, discuss the next steps and whatever else was necessary, but she couldn't seem to bring herself to do it yet. Every moment she was alone with her husband she felt defeated and just sad. How could their lives be so different from what they once dreamt and hoped they would be?

"I… I think I've found somewhere else to live."

She didn't know why she felt the urge to blurt that out, especially when she wasn't even sure it was true. While she made a promise to herself that she would _consider_ speaking to Rose's cousin, she hadn't actually planned to accept. At least not yet. Maybe it made her feel like she had some sort of control. Or maybe subconsciously she knew that she couldn't bear many more nights with neither of them knowing what to say to the other. Rarely in all of the years that they'd known each other had they been unable to carry on a simple conversation.

"Oh, well, you don't have to run out of here. This is still your home, Hermione."

"Is it?"

Ron sighed, unsure how to respond. She hadn't meant to sound petulant; the words just fell out of her mouth.

"I know we need to talk, Ron, but I just don't think I have it in me to do it tonight. I'm going to go pack a bag. I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron again tonight."

He didn't stop her when she left the room to enter their bedroom for the first time since the day after he asked her for a divorce. It was hard to enter the space, but she was running low on clean clothes. Not even her beaded bag had much left in it to wear. She didn't want to linger. Without giving it much thought, she just randomly pulled clothes out of their shared wardrobe to shove into the bag. Only in there a few minutes, Ron hadn't even moved from the sofa when she returned.

"Can we talk tomorrow night? I don't think we should let this go on much longer without talking."

Hermione sighed. He had a valid point.

"All right. Tomorrow night."

It was awkward to leave their flat again, but she meant it when she told him that she didn't have it in her to talk that night. Though it wasn't like her, an avowed Gryffindor, to be so cowardly, a heavy exhaustion fell over her each time she even _thought_ about the tough discussion they needed to have. It seemed so _final_ and she wasn't ready for it.

Tom waved at her from behind the bar when she entered the Leaky Cauldron. Seeing no one that she wanted to speak to that evening in the main room of the tavern, Hermione climbed the stairs to the private rooms. She had a bottle of Dreamless Sleep potion with her name on it.

* * *

In order to keep Kenneth Towler or any of the other busybodies in the Ministry from sensing that there was something wrong in her life, Hermione made certain that she was in her office at her regular time the next morning. She'd slept peacefully the night before. Even though she had the dreaded conversation with Ron looming ahead of her, she felt calm and at ease. When Rose found her already seated behind her side of their shared desk, she offered her boss a smile.

"You didn't have to rush out of here yesterday so quickly, Hermione."

It was tempting to tease Rose about her visitor, but she stopped herself. Theo Nott's visit was likely innocent and absolutely none of her business. As much as she wanted Rose to be happy, she was well aware that trying to _force_ anything usually ended up in pain and heartache.

"I needed to get home anyway. I thought Ron and I were going to finally talk, but I'm afraid I wasn't a very good Gryffindor last night."

Rose's smile dimmed.

"I promised him that we would talk tonight. I'm sure it's going to be uncomfortable and awful."

"Did you think any more about my cousin's house?"

The woman's awkward and overly interested segue to their discussion from the day before was odd. If it was an effort on Rose's part to try to keep Hermione's mind off of her husband and the unpleasantness she had to look forward to that evening, it only sort of worked. Sometimes Rose could be very socially maladroit. Usually, she found it amusing.

"I don't know, Rose. It seems all very sudden and strange. I mean, I don't even know your cousin."

"Well, I talked to my cousin yesterday… and my cousin thought it was an excellent idea. Said there's plenty of space."

She scribbled down an address on a scrap of parchment and pushed it across the desk.

"Promise me that you'll at least go look at it before you say 'no'."

"Rose, I don't know…"

" _Promise_ me."

It was impossible to not comply. With a chuckle, Hermione agreed to go look at the house after work. She wasn't going to promise that she would accept the offer, but a part of her couldn't imagine saying 'no'. It would only be temporary. No matter how lovely the house and the surrounding land, she wouldn't be there forever.

There weren't many other options available to her other than living in a dank, disgusting hovel she could barely afford. Her parents might have been well off, but they weren't on the best of terms since she recovered their memories and they realized the depths she stooped to keep them safe. It had been a violation that they weren't sure they would ever fully recover from. If Harry wasn't married to Ron's sister, she might have been able to return to her old bedroom in Number Twelve. Thanks to the Weasley connection, she knew that it would be too awkward to impose on the Potters. She also wasn't sure that she wanted to be subjected to Harry's repeated attempts to get her back together with her husband. He likely would never truly believe they were over.

Rose made her promise again that she would go directly to her cousin's house when their work day ended. The younger witch's vehemence continued to amuse Hermione. She couldn't understand why it was so important to Rose.

Outside of the Ministry after another uneventful day, she focused on the piece of parchment with the address in her hand. It was much easier to Apparate to a location when one had been there before. When she suggested to Rose that it might be best if she Side-Along Apparated Hermione to Somerset, she made some excuse about needing to meet her father. She seemed almost nervous when she refused. The girl was truly a mystery at times.

Hermione's feet landed in front of a very charming house indeed. Tucked away amongst a number of large trees and far from the nearest Muggle road, the house was exactly as Rose described it. Clearly old and somewhat neglected, it needed a great deal of work, but it was full of potential. Before she made a single step towards the front door, she already had at least half a dozen ideas for improvement. She hoped that the owner of the house would be amenable to at least _some_ of her suggestions. Perhaps as part of her rent, she could help with the necessary enchantments that would bring the house back to its former glory.

The front door loudly creaked open long before she reached it on her own. Repairing the entrance would have to be high on the list of priorities. She tore her gaze away from the dormer windows on the upper floor to meet the amused gaze of Rose Zeller's mysterious cousin. It became clear immediately why her assistant seemed so eager to make sure she agreed to at least _look_ at the house with an open mind.

"Hello there, Hermione. Rosie told me I should expect you to drop by this evening."

Wizarding society was small. How was it possible she didn't realize that Cormac McLaggen was the cousin Rose was so desperate for Hermione to move in with? She sighed. Oh, Rose was going to have a lot to answer for when she saw her next.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Author's Note_** ** _: Thank you so much for all of the wonderful reviews! I'm amazed that so many people have stumbled upon this admittedly weird pairing and have found something that they enjoy so far. I do want to remind everyone to take a quick look at the Genres associated with this story. "Friendship" is the first one for a very valid reason. Now, that's not to say that there's not going to be more than that as the story progresses, but for the time being, that's the main focus. I know there are a few of you who are a bit suspicious of Cormac and his actions. Don't be. He's actually a pretty good guy in this story. I promise. ;)_**

* * *

Chapter Eight

Rose's continued repetition of the words "my cousin" made an awful lot of sense the longer Hermione stared at Cormac standing in the front entrance to his home. Every time mention was made of the house in Somerset where her assistant thought she should move into, Rose only mentioned her cousin, never his name or even that he was a he. It was galling to conclude that if Hermione's mind hadn't been so focused on how she was going to figure out how to pay for a new place to live or on the unpleasant talk she needed to have with Ron, she might've asked better questions or remembered that Cormac was her bloody cousin!

She was humiliated. Remembering the moment she proudly told the wizard that she'd found somewhere to live and that she was _helping_ Rose's cousin through a financial hardship made her want to crawl under a bed. No doubt Cormac would never let her live that down. Why did she have to say it? Why didn't she get more information before telling Ron she'd found somewhere else to live? Everything that happened in her life in recent weeks was apparently making her stupid.

It wasn't exactly a secret that Cormac was related to the Zellers the more she thought about it. In her sixth year at Hogwarts and his seventh, Cormac was invited to the Slug Club because of his Uncle Tiberius' powerful connections in the Ministry and his close, personal relationship with then-Minister for Magic Rufus Scrimgeour. She softly groaned. There'd even been an entire discussion at one of Professor Slughorn's private dinners about how his father and uncle had been best friends since they were eleven and how it had been a bit of a strain on their friendship when Tiberius' younger sister fell in love with his best friend. Maybe if her mind hadn't been so consumed by her own worries, she would've remembered Cormac's connection with Rose.

"This is _not_ happening."

Hermione turned around to head back to the small clearing she arrived in to leave, but was stopped by a gentle touch of her arm. Though she knew she was likely to regret even _contemplating_ moving in, she sighed and looked up into Cormac's worried eyes. How could the wizard change from joking, almost flirtatious, to concerned and fearful in such a short moment? There was a lot about him she didn't understand.

"I take it you didn't realize _I_ was the cousin Rosie was talking about?"

His tone was soft, hesitant. Never had she heard such vulnerability from him. It was surprising to say the least.

"No, I didn't even remember you were her cousin."

"And Rosie never bothered to set you straight?"

"No, she didn't."

Cormac's soft chuckles were contagious. Despite trying very hard to remain serious, she found it quite easy to find the humor in the situation. Rose clearly had an agenda, one Hermione was going to confront her about the next morning.

"Who would've thought my sweet, innocent Hufflepuff cousin could be so devious?"

"Maybe she's fooled everyone and should've been a Slytherin instead."

"Did she really tell you that I'd fallen on hard financial times and needed help paying my mortgage?"

All desire to keep laughing disappeared in an instant. She felt her cheeks heat with a mortified flush. _Why_ did she make a claim she knew to be untrue out loud?

"No, she didn't. I just said that because…"

She knew she needed to offer _some_ sort of explanation but didn't even know where to begin. Cormac smiled.

"Pride?" She didn't deny it. "Ahh, yes, one of our least attractive Gryffindor traits."

"I thought if I could convince myself that I was needed and not asking for a favor that it might make it easier to accept."

"Appealing to your nobility? The Sorting Hat didn't make a mistake with you."

Feeling the urge to laugh again, she playfully swatted at his arm. Anyone else might've laughed at her or been offended, but Cormac clearly wasn't like most people.

"Well, thanks to an obscene amount of money my former father-in-law threw at me to ensure some of the juicier family secrets were kept out of the press, I'm _not_ in financial peril, but as you can see, my home is in desperate need of some repairs. I would be forever in your debt if you could find it in your noble heart to help me."

She couldn't deny that the offer was tempting. If there was one thing Hermione liked, it was a challenging project. With her job being so dissatisfactory at times, having something tangible like a house that she could actually see improve would help in her sense of finding some sort of purpose. But, she had a number of reservations as anyone with half a brain should.

"Rose might fancy herself a matchmaker, but I'm not looking for a relationship, McLaggen."

"Neither am I, Hermione. I want to be your friend. That's it."

It was still a difficult decision to make. They hardly knew each other and there was history between them. What if she moved in and the close proximity made everything so much more complicated than it needed to be? Sensing her reluctance to agree, Cormac reached for one of her hands to hold between both of his. Startled, she looked into his eyes to see nothing but complete sincerity. None of the teasing she'd come to expect from him was anywhere present.

"The _last_ thing you need right now is to be in a relationship with _anyone_ , love. I'm afraid that if you don't move in here, you'll either end up in some dangerous, disgusting flat where you'll be murdered or you might end up with someone who _doesn't_ understand that you need to be alone right now."

Hermione had nowhere to go. Every point he made was valid. There was such genuineness in him that she couldn't help but believe his words. When he released her hand with a smile, she made her decision. What was the absolute worst that could happen?

"I'm not sharing a bathroom with you."

Just like his laughter, his bright smile was contagious. She took a step towards the house.

"I wouldn't dream of asking you to."

"Well, show me inside before I come to my senses and run away."

Cormac was proud that from the first step inside his house Hermione was pleased with what she saw. There really was an enormous amount of potential if one only had the wherewithal to make it happen. He had many lofty ideas of how to improve the space that she couldn't help but smile when he showed her all of the rooms on the ground floor. Once upon a time it had been a grand house, one that likely housed several generations of the same family. She wished that she knew the stories that the walls could tell.

"This kitchen is _horrible_ , Cormac. What have you been doing since you moved in?"

"Eating at the Leaky mostly. Sometimes I like to go into the nearby village for a change, but I'd love to get this room finished as soon as possible. I actually miss cooking."

" _You_ can cook?"

She didn't mean for the heavy smattering of incredulity to overtake her words, but to his credit, Cormac wasn't offended. Just simply laughed the loud, confident laugh that used to get on her nerves when they were younger. At some point in the previous few days, she found that it wasn't as annoying as it used to be. That alone should've worried her if she'd allowed herself to think about all of the potential issues that even entertaining a proposal to move into his home could create.

"Of course I can. Couldn't leave it up to my ex-wife. We would've all starved. Or spent too much money on take-away. I'm afraid the ex-Mrs. McLaggen was raised in a large home with a staff of house-elves to attend to her every need."

Hermione sniffed at the reminder of the fact that there were still some countries in their world that hadn't yet followed their lead to release their house-elves from their bondage. Several countries even dared to _laugh_ when it was proposed. More than a few times the former war heroine's name was dragged through the mud in some ridiculous foreign publication for 'wasting her considerable talents' on something that was 'beneath her dignity'. She hated how myopic the world could be about topics they didn't fully understand.

"She sounds _charming_."

Cormac simply laughed again. Though she imagined there was a great deal that he could say on the topic of the woman he was once married to, he didn't take the bait. Hermione was glad that he didn't appear to be one of those people who harped on and on about how horrible their former spouses were. There was very little reason to dwell on the past and she knew for a fact that no one was perfect. No doubt his ex-wife would have plenty of her own to say about him if given the chance.

"Yes, well, I have a number of ideas for this room. I'll be glad to go over them with you in detail if you decide that you want to take one of the spare bedrooms."

"' _If'_? So you're not convinced that I'm just going to fall for both Rose's deception and your charm and move in immediately?"

"I learned a long time ago that I didn't know anything about Hermione Granger or what she will do next. Can't imagine all of these years away from each other would've changed that any."

He coupled his remark with a cheeky wink. Though tempting to take what he said as some sort of insult, somehow she knew that's not what he meant. Besides, it wasn't exactly like he would be the first man to not understand anything about her. Hadn't she been married to another for almost eight years? Instead, she offered an unattractive snort, rolled her eyes, and stepped into the connecting room that she assumed had to have been quite a spectacular formal dining room in the home's glorious past.

"Can you imagine the parties that this house must have hosted? Or the number of fascinating people that came to visit? That was part of the reason I wanted to buy it. Seemed so sad to leave such a beautiful structure to waste away to nothing."

"Do you know much about the previous owners?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't. Thought about digging them up in the Ministry Archives, see if there's anything terribly nasty I should know about, but I haven't had the chance yet."

A chill fell over Hermione in that exact moment. Whether it was because of some sort of foreboding about the mystery of the house or it was just because the house was a bit drafty, she couldn't be sure. She remembered how nasty and dangerous Number Twelve was before Harry and Ginny had the entire structure completely gutted and remodeled. Would they find the same sorts of nasty surprises waiting in the walls that the Potters did? It was almost enough to encourage her to say no.

But, unfortunately, the trite saying that 'beggars can't be choosers' was perfectly apt in her current situation. Unless she wanted to suffer the indignity of appealing to her parents for funds that she was almost certain they would deny or if she wanted to suffer even further humiliation by relying on her soon-to-be ex-husband to keep paying for her housing, she had limited options. Until something better came along that she could actually afford, she had to do what she must. Pushing aside the concerns that the upstairs rooms might be infested with creatures worse than doxies or puffskeins, she turned toward Cormac.

"Now, show me where you want me to sleep. And so help me, McLaggen, if you lead me into your bedroom, I'm hexing your bits off and running out the front door."

He held up both of his hands and laughed.

"I wouldn't dream of being so uncreative and forthright. Especially not on your first visit."

Much of the tension that landed on her shoulders the moment she realized she'd Apparated just outside Cormac's house dissipated with another laugh. How was it possible that he was able to put her so at ease? If she'd heard even just a month earlier that she would be in the position that she was in, she wouldn't have believed it to begin with, but to add the unbelievable fact that she was considering moving into Cormac McLaggen's house on top of it all? She would've suggested the poor soul go straight to St. Mungo's.

The grand staircase in the center of the house had seen better days. Using her imagination, Hermione could almost see what it would've been like in its best days. She could understand quite easily why the wizard had been drawn to the charming old mansion. It held an allure to it that she couldn't quite describe. As they climbed the stairs, Cormac pointed out where the structure needed to be reinforced. He'd cast spells on it to keep it safe temporarily that would eventually need to be replaced with a more permanent repair. Every word he spoke about his new home was filled with such pride that she almost envied him. What did she have in her life to be that proud of? The answer was depressing.

"There are several bedrooms up here that you could choose from, but I'm afraid they're all in need of a great deal of work."

"I imagine they are."

"I think I know which one you'll like best."

With his usual arrogant smirk on his face, Cormac led her to the end of the corridor. Dust and cobwebs coated most surfaces even though it appeared that some cursory cleansing spells had been attempted. She stifled a sigh. Wizards could be so terrible at cleaning. Her husband and her best friend were proof of that time and time again.

Cormac pushed open an elaborately carved door to reveal a bedroom suite that was very near the same size as the entire flat she shared with Ron. She felt her jaw quite literally drop when she stepped inside behind him. Large windows covered one entire wall allowing natural light to flood the room. The furnishings were worn and terribly out of date, but she could easily tell that just like the rooms downstairs, it had once been a bedroom to be proud of. A slight breeze blew in through the cracks in a couple of the windows. Even with the stark reminder that it wasn't ready to live in just yet, Hermione felt a sense of calm standing inside the room.

"When Rose said that you'd purchased a charming house in Somerset, I imagined it was more like a small cottage or an old farmhouse. This… isn't what I was expecting."

"That was my intention, believe it or not. I just wanted something with a bit of land where I wouldn't feel cramped. Spent too many years living in the city. But I stumbled upon this and I just couldn't let it fall to pieces."

"I understand."

"This room won't be ready to live in just yet, but there's another room at the other end of the corridor that could do for the time being."

He stepped outside of the bedroom and gestured towards the other. Curious, but a little sad to see the other room go, Hermione followed him. Just as he said, there was a much smaller bedroom that was functional and had already been repaired.

"It's not as grand, but it'll do until you make the other just how you want it. You need something that you can be totally in control of right now."

Hermione couldn't deny that the thought of having a tangible project like Cormac was offering helped calm her need for a sense of purpose. He was right. She _did_ need something that was within her control in the immediate future. Until he said the words, she never even stopped to consider the fact that most of the reason why she had felt lost since the moment Ron asked her for a divorce was because she felt all sense of control in her life slip away. She wasn't used to feeling so lost and helpless. It was something she didn't _want_ to get used to.

"How do you know so much about what I need right now?"

She didn't mean for the words to come out so harshly or so sharply. If she was honest with herself, she would've come to the conclusion that she was simply embarrassed that he'd had the chance to witness her in such a vulnerable stage of her life on repeated occasions. It would've been bad enough for someone that she'd been close friends with for years to see her in such a state. Knowing that of all the people in the world, it was _McLaggen_ who showed her the most kindness was unbelievable.

Though she hadn't been kind in the delivery of her question, Cormac smiled. If he was offended by her rudeness, he didn't admit it. Just looked her straight in the eyes to show that once again he had nothing to hide from her.

"Because even though the circumstances of our divorces are different, I can understand a lot of what you're going through right now. When my ex and I separated… it was… well, let's just say that I had no control over a damn thing in my entire life. Not a single thing. Every part of my life from my job to my friends to my family to where I laid my head down at night changed. Maybe me buying this house was some way for me to regain control in my life too."

His vulnerability impressed Hermione. Somehow she never expected to see him be so open and honest about his own past. She couldn't help that there was still so much about his circumstances that she wanted to learn about. When the salacious scandal of his divorce was played out in the newspapers over a year earlier, she hadn't paid much attention at all. Each time she saw his name, she rolled her eyes and tried to forget she'd ever known the cretin. Even though he was being candid, she didn't think it was appropriate to ask him any questions. Not yet. Not when they were still hardly more than old school acquaintances.

"But enough about me and my troubles." He waved his hand in a dismissive manner, effectively closing himself off once again. Part of Hermione was relieved. "You don't have to make the decision yet, Hermione. Just think about it. Sleep on it. My offer will stand no matter how long you take to decide."

She didn't remain long in the once-beautiful home. After she had a a thorough look around the room that would be hers temporarily until she could repair the larger one at the end of the corridor, Hermione made her excuses to leave. There was a conversation that she desperately needed to have with her husband, whether she wanted to have it or not.

"Have a good night, Hermione. I meant all that I said."

Cormac's assurances still rattled around in her brain as she walked from the alley behind her building towards her flat. She couldn't believe that she was actually considering very strongly taking him up on his offer to live in his house. How topsy-turvy had her world become since Ron asked her for a divorce that she would do that? He seemed to be knowledgable about the pain and hardships she was preparing herself for with the dissolution of her marriage. Could it be possible that he might actually be able to understand better than most what she was feeling and going through? Once upon a time she wouldn't have believed it possible, but everyone eventual grew up. They didn't stay the same people they were when they were children. Was it fair to continue holding him to task for actions and behaviors he exhibited when they were still children?

Long before she was ready to face her husband, she found herself standing in front of the door to their flat. Based on the time, she _expected_ Ron to be home, but she couldn't be sure. He often kept strange hours, especially when it was evident that he was doing what he could to avoid being in her company. As much as it bothered her to admit so, she couldn't deny that it hurt to know that her own husband didn't enjoy being alone with her. There'd been a number of uncomfortable truths about herself that she'd been forced to consider in recent days. Was she truly that terrible? She knew that she could be difficult certainly. Was it all her fault?

She wasn't sure if she should be relieved that Ron sat on the sofa just inside the front door or worried. Though she knew she couldn't keep doing it forever, it had been rather nice avoiding him and the heartbreaking conversation she knew was sure to come. His blue eyes met hers the instant she crossed the threshold. It was only slightly comforting that she could tell he was every bit as nervous to be alone with her as she was him. What happened to the happy couple that used to be best friends? How did the reality of life change them both so much?

"I wasn't sure you would come home tonight."

Tears formed in the corners of her eyes at the sound of his nervous tone. She didn't want to show any weakness or give him any proof that he'd already wounded her so deeply. Taking a deep breath, she willed the emotion to dissipate. There was simply no way she would be able to get through what was necessary if she didn't keep a tight control on her emotions. Ron accused her many times through the length of their relationship of using her tears as a manipulation. He'd even been right about some of the time.

"We have a lot to settle and I didn't think we should put it off for another night."

He nodded silently in agreement as she took the seat on the opposite end of the sofa. Perched on the very edge of the cushion, she was prepared just in case she needed to make a quick escape. Ron would never willfully hurt her, of course, but she felt more comfortable knowing she could leave at any time she wished.

"No, I think you're right. We do need to talk."

It was a curious phenomenon between two people who had a great deal to say to each other to be struck temporarily mute in the face of such an opportunity. Their silence was particularly upsetting for Hermione. She couldn't help but remember all of the wonderful times in their friendship and then their marriage where they were able to carry on long, meaningful discussions with few silences.

Many who didn't know her husband might have thought him incapable of such a feat. It was just more proof how little most people knew Ron. He was a surprising figure to many, especially considering how often his accomplishments and contributions to fighting Lord Voldemort were overlooked. She'd lost count the number of times she had to respond to some well-meaning critic of her marriage. For reasons she never quite understood, there were people who thought that they knew what would make her happy better than she did. Those who would so easily dismiss Ron as being less than he was couldn't understand how she could be happy being married to him.

But there had been several years that she was. And she'd held on to a hope for even longer that one day they would find their way back to that same happy place. She wasn't one who gave up easily or cared for failure. Maybe she'd allowed her marriage to last longer than it should have because she was determined to not become just another failure. Perhaps they could've saved each other a great deal of heartache if either of them had been willing to make the suggestion they separate years earlier. Part of her admired Ron for finally saying what was necessary even as she mourned the loss of what could have been.

"I feel lost, Hermione. I don't… I don't know what to do next."

She dared to look into his watery eyes to see the truth in his speech. There was no way that they would be able to move forward without experiencing even more pain. The weight of the world settled on her shoulders. She slumped slightly forward, fearing that she wouldn't be able to take another breath with her burden weighing her down. Why was everything so hard? Over the years she'd watched other couples interact with each other. It never seemed half as difficult for them as it did for her marriage. What was the difference? She couldn't imagine that it was because they didn't love each other enough. Even with her heart pounding its broken pieces in her chest, she knew that she would never _stop_ loving her husband. Not even long after he no longer _was_ her husband.

"I don't either, Ron."

All she really knew was that _something_ had to change. If Ron offered the unlikely suggestion that they just forget what he said about a divorce and try to work on their marriage again, she knew that she would turn him down. Being apart from him for several days taught her the uncomfortable lesson that being alone was better than being somewhere she felt unwanted. It wasn't easy on her self-esteem to come to the realization that her husband didn't want her anymore. She knew that if she stayed, she would only grow even more resentful. That was no way to live. Didn't they both deserve the opportunity to at least _try_ to find happiness?

Reflection taught her that that the love that she felt for her husband was different than it used to be. Somewhere along the years they'd settled into a too-comfortable routine of just living with the other without feeling any of the same sort of passion they once did when they were younger. Everyone evolved as they grew older. Sometimes it was for the best and sometimes it wasn't. While she couldn't be sure in that moment whether or not the changes were to their benefit or not, she knew that it didn't really matter. Though they started out going down the same path at the same speed with the same destination in mind, at some point their paths diverged from the other's. Sure, they could've made the decision to get back in sync, but neither of them did. Cormac had been right in his assertion that they each made thousands of little choices that took them further apart.

Hermione meant it when she told herself that she would love Ron for the rest of her life. It would simply be a different kind of love than she'd once felt for him. She knew that there would never come a day that she wanted her former love to be miserable and unhappy. There was too much misery in the world as it was. Why would she wish it upon someone that she'd simply fallen out of sync with? She knew there were some ex-spouses that deserved all of the anger and scorn that their exes heaped upon them due to their own terrible behaviors and actions. Ron wasn't one of them. He was a good man. Flawed, yes, but weren't they all? Just because they didn't work together any longer didn't mean she wanted to doom him to a life of drudgery and unhappiness. She wasn't that petty after all. Even though it was likely to be one of the hardest things she had to do in her adult life, she knew that she had to take the next step for them both.

"I'll be moving out of here, Ron. You should keep the flat. It's what you wanted when we bought it. It's closer to Diagon Alley."

"Are you sure, Hermione? I can move into the flat above the shop for a little while until I find something else."

"No, I mean it. Stay here. I don't… I don't think I could still live here after…"

She didn't want to finish her thought. It was all true. Ron was more in favor of the flat in the city than she was. Even if she didn't have a crumbling mansion in the country to focus her attentions on, she wouldn't have wanted to stay where she was. There were too many memories that she would find it impossible to escape from on a daily basis. Too much happened between those walls. She needed a clean break if she wanted a fresh start.

"Are you terribly angry with me, Hermione?"

It had been a long time since she last heard Ron sound so vulnerable and insecure. Cursed with an unfortunate inferiority complex thanks to having so many older brothers who were talented and feeling like he could never do anything to measure up to them in his parents' eyes from a young age, he still struggled with those same feelings even as an adult. She was glad to notice that they were infrequent, sometimes years between events when his insecurity would flare up to a discernible level. Neither of them were perfect. She often felt like she had to work twice as hard as everyone else just to prove that she actually deserved to be a witch. Some of the obsessive need to prove herself had gone away when she was older, but it still sat there in the recesses of her mind waiting for a resurgence if she gave it a chance. What a neurotic pair they made!

"I'm… _sad_ , Ron. Not angry. I think I've been sad for a long time."

"I never wanted to hurt you. I tried and tried to think of a way to do this without either one of us getting hurt, but…"

"No, I know. We've been living in an impossible fog for the last few years. I think we've both been able to deny it, hoping that it would eventually go away."

Opening up was always going to be a difficult task. She wished that they could've avoided it altogether, but that was cowardly. They had to have some sort of closure or they could never hope to heal from the entire experience. She didn't want to imagine a world where she would have to turn and run the other way if she ever saw Ron walking towards her. Though they would likely never regain their old friendship, she didn't want to leave anything unsettled. But, with the opportunity to say everything made available to her, she found that she couldn't speak the words. It was too hard. The wounds were too fresh. Instead of dealing with raw emotions, she turned to cold logistics to keep her from losing complete control.

"So you can keep this flat. I'll move out."

"Where?"

She didn't understand why, but she wasn't ready to admit to being on the verge of accepting Cormac's offer. It didn't feel right to tell her husband she was moving out of his home and straight into another man's. Even with nothing between the two of them, she knew what it _looked_ like. No, she would wait to make that announcement in the future.

"Doesn't matter. I'll find a place. I'll come pack up my things this weekend."

"Would you like me to be here when you do that?"

"If you want to, but it's not necessary."

They spent a few minutes discussing their possessions. Was there anything that she wanted to take with her? What did he want to keep? Each time he offered her another piece of furniture, Hermione turned it down. Just like the flat, every piece of furniture held a memory that she wasn't sure she wanted to carry with her into the next stage of her life. When they couldn't discuss meaningless possessions any longer, Ron moved on to more difficult matters.

"I'm not sure how quiet we can keep this. Once we file in the Ministry, it'll be all over the papers. You know that Rita Skeeter won't let it go without saying something."

"No, she won't. Maybe we should just get it over with."

"I could come to your office tomorrow and we could go together?"

Hermione only lingered in the flat a short time longer after they made plans to meet up to dissolve their marriage the next day. The air in her former home was heavy and oppressive. She feared that if she didn't get away from Ron quickly enough that she would be in danger of bursting into loud, embarrassing sobs in front of him. Following an awkward exchange of goodnights, she shoved more of her clothes in her beaded bag.

Tom was kind enough to have her room at the Leaky Cauldron ready for her when she arrived. She was only just able to close the door and apply the silencing charm before the waves of crippling emotions washed over her entire body.


End file.
